


Bhairavi

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AR Rahman's Music, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Blindfolds, Bottom Dean, Depressed Dean, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Character Death, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Switching, Kittens, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Experimentation, Mute Castiel, One Big Happy Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Profound Bond, Restaurant Owner Dean, Sam Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Self-Harm, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Castiel, Violinist Castiel, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: Ragam (n; raa-gum):a melodic mode in Indian classical music. An array of melodic structures with musical motifs, considered in the Indian tradition to have the ability to "colour the mind" and affect the emotions of the audience. A popular example of a Ragam isBhairavi, a versatile, emotional composition of notes known to take your breath away.Bhairaviis the music of the night: when fireflies and stars gather to show you the light. When darkness seeps out of its dingy hiding place and yet, the moon shines bright as always, determined to defeat every inch of it.Bhairaviis the music of love and lust and kindness. Of gentle fingers running over sweaty skin, of soft kisses taking away tears and hurt and anger.Bhairaviis Dean losing his brother to a freak accident and struggling to get up ever since.Bhairaviis Dean falling in love with Cas, of Cas's violin playing sharp and smooth and bright in the misty darkness.Bhairaviis Dean realising that Sam is not dead and that Cas knows more about the dangers and scandals that seek Dean's brother, than he lets on.Bhairaviis Dean's story; of how he found love, family, and life.





	1. Shadjam

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Diwali, all, and welcome to my newest fanfic. This is the most wholesome thing I've written all my life so I hope I got it right.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful artist, **blue-reveries** who was the best ever and so, so patient even though we struggled and struggled through various problems in the course of this story. The amazing art masterpost can be found [here](https://blue-reveries.tumblr.com/post/166573009827/art-post-for-winchesterpoojas-awesome-story) (tagged NSFW for risque artwork--just to be safe).
> 
> My beta, **Allison/DarcyDelaney** was amazing, and a ninja and she's totally saved my ass so I owe her everything right now.
> 
> The inspiration for this fic comes from AR Rahman's music, and a compilation of my favourites, that I used for the story, can be found [here.](https://www.saavn.com/s/playlist/36cc186db1feb71adf78cb223b9c72e9/Bhairavi/t6vL0V12dkHc1EngHtQQ2g__?referrer=svn_source=share&svn_medium=org.telegram.messenger) They're arranged according to the mood of the fic and songs actually referenced in the fic will be mentioned by the number in the A/N. For now, Chapter 1 features song #2: Jiya Jale.
> 
> A big hug to **Ellen/lennelle, Sanjy/SPNxBookworm** and **Naila/iamremy** for being the best cheerleaders and support through writing this. Last but not the least, thank you, **Muse** and **Jojo** for bearing with me and helping me through this. You've been amazing mods.
> 
>  
> 
> **Please go through the tags for possible triggers. The story gets angsty but ends happy and nobody dies. That's a big, fat promise so I hope you enjoy!**

****

 

**Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing  
and rightdoing there is a field.  
I’ll meet you there.  
When the soul lies down in that grass  
the world is too full to talk about.**

**-Rumi**

* * *

 

 

**Prologue**

_Hey Jude don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

The lullaby always calmed Sammy down. When Mom held him at nights and sang to him, and sometimes, when she wasn't around, he would listen to Dean too.

The lullaby always calmed Sammy down but Dean didn't know that he'd be singing it again at his brother's funeral.

 

**0000000000000**

 

 

**1\. Shadjam**

It's the middle of the night when it happens. There's a phone call and a long, dreadful pause after. Then he has to make another call himself, to his mother, to more silence. There is no screaming and no tears from her side. Just a shaky, "Let's go."

All he can remember after is the honking of cars, the blaring taillights, speeding as much as he is allowed without being pulled over, coaxing Baby to go as fast as she can. Then the hospital and its sterile walls and whiteness and the sick smell of antiseptic and shoes scuffing against vinyl floor,  _run, run, run,_ _or he will be gone_ _he is gone._

He refuses to believe it. Refuses to give that thought weight because it can't be true.

It just can't.

However, here he is. Here he is in the morgue, his mother's clammy hand in his, and the cold steel stretcher with the body on it, covered with a sheet so white and pure, it shouldn't be used to indicate death. He bets the cloth is rough and starched stiff, uncomfortable on so many levels even if the hospital staff chanted and chanted and sang and coaxed,  _we made him as comfortable as we could._

Dean can't understand it. How can death be comfortable in any way?

The mortician pulls the cloth off ( _no, no, let me live in my dream_ ) and there's nothing there, nothing there, just burnt skin and bone and flesh, six feet, four inches of it, but there's his ring, Sam's silver ring with "SW" etched into the metal, and the remains of the face… they are… they're  _Sam_.

It all shatters like a million pieces, like fragile glass. Dean's running away, running to the bathroom to throw up the contents of his stomach and heart and soul so he can vanish, just go,  _disappear_.

He wants to die.

Unfortunately, that doesn't happen. He's still there after all of it, heart beating in full force, stomach turning and body aching, every inch of him acting as a reminder that he's here and he's alive. Alive, when all he wants to do is not exist anymore.

He hides his face in his arm, the same arm that's draped across the toilet seat, and shudders as tears wet his skin. He doesn't get up until his mother comes looking for him, until she coaxes him back into the car and holds him.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she says, and her voice shivers for the first time that night. She is the bravest woman he knows. The strongest woman he's ever met. And the tremble in her voice makes him want to run away.

He cannot be selfish, though, because she needs him. So he looks up at her through a film of tears. "H-How…" he stammers, "how did it happen?"

"He hit a tree," she replies, thumbing at the corner of his eye. "Head injury."

"But…"

Dean knows what he saw. The charred remains. The barely recognisable face. That doesn't happen from a damn head injury.

"He died before the car caught fire," his mother says in reply to his unanswered question. She pauses for a moment, as if gathering every piece of herself. "He hit his head on the steering wheel and died immediately. He didn't suffer at all, sweetheart."

That's all Dean gets to live with. That his brother, whom he'd taken care of and doted on and relied on and trusted, his brother who'd been there for him through some of the worst parts of his life—his  _little_  brother, Sam, had died without suffering.

That's right. Sam died and caught fire and has no face left. But at least it didn't hurt, so it's all okay.

It's okay because all Dean has to do is live with a very large hole in his soul from today, until the end of his life.

It's the middle of the night when it all falls apart for Dean, and when Sam wakes up in a small, sterile, unknown room with a hospital bracelet around his wrist.  _M-30208_ , it reads, and he doesn't know what that means.

Sam's cries for help remain unheard that night, and for a long, long time afterwards.

**o0o**

**_Six months later_ **

"Oh, oh, oh, fuck…  _God…_ "

Dean grits his teeth against sharp, sweet pain beneath his ear, feeling lips pull at a fold of his skin, breath coming out in short gasps and pants as every cell in his body wakes up, nerves shot, and _he wants it,_ he wants it with every inch of his being, to feel this way and forget it all, the pain and suffering and all that crap only to feel… to feel—

Strong arms hold Dean to turn him around, palms pushing his back against the wall. Lips come to press against his, wet and ridged, tongue licking vigorously and teeth nipping him while he cups prickly, stubbled cheeks. They separate for a moment, just a moment. There is a moan, nails against his shirt, little jolts of electric sparks everywhere. Dean sees a flash of blue eyes and long eyelashes, feels fingertips dragging on skin followed by the sound of his fly coming undone. A hand grips at him, a firm hand with coarse, calloused fingers and there is a mouth wrapping around him the next moment.

He hisses, growing hard, and it's all in a tangle of lips and spit and tongue, dragging him in and out, fingers digging into the flesh of Dean's ass as he clutches onto strands of hair, and just as he is on edge, just as it builds up, he's pushed against the bed. He gasps, tantalised, and looks back to his partner who gestures between panting breaths for Dean to get onto all fours. He obeys, enjoys the tingle spreading over him as he feels thick, muscular thighs press against his ass, listens to the condom get pulled out of its pack, then the lube, and the wet slap of a palm on skin.

The room smells of sweat and sex and Dean doesn't have to wait long for the touching and stroking and _fingers, fingers, fingers._

He moans, gasps, and the fingers are out and now it's slow, slow inhales, hot breaths on his neck and the calloused hands again, one clutching his hair and another lower still…

It all comes together like a current travelling through his nerves.  _Fuck_.

They rock in synchronisation. Dean fists the sheets, sweat dripping down his face and the sides of his body, wobbling with excitement as skin slides on skin and with each gasp and pant and moan he feels himself come alive, new and invigorated and  _God, God oh God oh fuck this is—_

He comes with a loud cry, ruining his bedcovers and continuing to rock until there is a strangled gasp from his partner, and everything is spinning and twisting and turning, making him feel like he's in a dream, his nerve cells purring as he feels the pleasant pall of sleep beckon to him.

This is perfect and he wants it again and he is about to say it—he swears he is, but he's dozing off before he can so much as form another thought. He doesn't feel the other man clean him up, doesn't hear him leave.

Dean wakes up later that morning, naked and alone, with a phone number written on his forearm in Sharpie, to his shrill alarm going off. He turns around and looks at his little digital clock, simultaneously shutting off the alarm and throwing the room into silence.

_7:30 AM_

_Monday, May 2_ _nd_

After blinking at the clock a couple of times he decides to brush his teeth and doze back off, hoping that he can ignore the entirety of today. Once he's showered and changed the bedsheets, he gets back under his blankets, rubs absently at his forearm, and stares at the writing on it for a long time, thinking about the sex last night.

_Text me._

_—_ _Cas_

**~o~**

_SURPRIIIIIISE!_

_The lights switch on to reveal a very glad and mildly shocked Sam. Eileen walks up to him and stands on tiptoes, getting him to bend forward so she can put the party hat on his head and he takes the moment to kiss her briefly on the lips._

_"_ _Gross!" Dean shouts from his corner, only to earn a bitchface from his brother, but then he's walking up and hugging Sam the next minute. "How did you like my surprise party?" he asks Sam, waggling his eyebrows._

 _"_ _This was_ your _idea?"_

 _"_ _No, it was Eileen's, but it was fun pretending for a minute," says Dean. Sam glares at him, then pulls Eileen forward again for another kiss. She obliges, hand trailing to cup his face and Dean turns away to let them have their moment._

 _"_ _Mom, where are—?"_

The doorbell rings loudly, causing Dean to jump a little and hit the spacebar on his laptop to pause the video. He remembers filming it at Sam's thirty-second birthday party last year and it had been a happy occasion with no bitterness or sadness or pain at all. The happiest occasion. Getting to see Sam after a good three months, talking to him about Mom and Eileen and Dean's job and Sam's job and everything under the sun, with just the Impala, chilled beer, and the stars for company.

The party and the family dinner after. Singing stupid songs loudly with Mom while they talked about Dad. Hugging Sam, pulling him close and holding on, but not close enough and not tightly enough. Because Sam couldn't visit after. Not even during summer break.  _Exams_ , he said.  _My job. Things. Busy. I'm busy, Dean. Sorry._

 _(Is everything all right, Sammy?_  Because Sam never missed coming home during summer break. The only time he got a true vacation from his students.

 _Yeah, Dean,_ he'd said _. I'm just…_

For the first time ever, Dean had wondered if there was really something Sam wasn't telling him).

He's pulled out of his reverie when the doorbell rings again and someone knocks. "Dean?"

He recognises the voice at once and wonders if he wants to open it.

Another knock, another call of his name. "Dean!"

He looks at his wristwatch, then sighs, because he knows he should open the door. It's not fair if he doesn't because he's not the only one who had mourned Sam and continues to mourn him, and he can't be so selfish. But… screw it. He's tired, he's—

The doorbell rings again. "Dean, open the door, or I'll break it!"

God, she's a force of nature, Dean thinks as he puts his laptop aside at long last. "I'm coming!" he calls out, making fists for a moment because he's annoyed, but pushing himself to get off his ass. He opens the door to see Eileen outside, looking just like he'd expected her to with her hands on her hips, her eyes spelling murder. She's kinda intimidating, despite the fact that she's several inches shorter than he is.

"What the hell took you so long?" she asks him, signing vigorously to accentuate her annoyance.

Dean scratches the back of his head. "I, uh—"

"Get ready," she says as she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. "We're going out."

"I… Eileen—"  _I'm not in the mood._

"Come on, Dean," she tells him, "I know, okay? But we have to stop being this way.  _You_  have to stop being this way. It's—"

He takes her hands before she can speak or sign further, and looks into her eyes. "Don't tell me that it's what Sam would have wanted. We never got to know what he wanted, okay? It was unfair and you know that."

"I never said anything about that," she replies, softly this time. "But this? Not moving on? It's unhealthy. We can't live like this forever."

"Yeah? Is that why it took you less than six months to get a new boyfriend?"

Dean knows he's wrong the moment he says it, from the sour taste in his mouth and the sink of his stomach with regret. She is glaring at him, mouth slightly open, and then she signs something that Dean blinks at for a whole moment. He does understand ASL pretty well but he can't sign, and sometimes it's too fast for him to pick up on.

He presses his lips together. "You know I… s-sometimes I can't—"

"You should have learned it by now," she snaps. "And screw you!"

She's heading to the door, about to leave, when he moves ahead and grabs her wrist. She turns around, and Dean meets eyes with her, only to turn his gaze downward. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean… can we—" He takes a deep breath and swallows. "Can we still go?"

It takes Eileen a moment, but then she's smiling. "Sure." She gets back in and makes to sit on the couch when she glances at the laptop and sees what Dean had been watching. Her eyes go soft, and Dean thinks they're filled up when she comes over to him and hugs him tightly for a long time.

"Did you call Mary?" she whispers against him and Dean holds on tight, still not ready to let go. He shakes his head. Mom must have scheduled all her appointments for today. That's what she does. He knows her too well.

"No," he says, at long last.

Eileen pulls away and wipes at her face. "She must be missing him, too, you know."

"I know."

"You should call her."

Dean swallows. "I'll… I'll go visit—"

"Dean."

"—tomorrow," Dean promises. "Okay? Please."

She folds her arms around herself and nods. "I won't tell you what to do, Dean."

"Except that I need to get ready right the fuck now and go to… wherever you're taking me?" Dean feels a grin creeping up his face.

Eileen chuckles. "Except that you need to get ready right the fuck now and go with me," she signs, still chuckling.

"Cool," Dean signs back, and winks at her before retreating to his bedroom to change into something decent.

**~o~**

Eileen takes Dean to what seems like a rehearsal studio and he is confused from the moment they arrive. He had spent the entire journey in deep thought, trying to keep the memories out and fighting to get his mind to stop making him think and suffer. He wasn't very successful but he hopes he'll feel less shitty once he spends some time with Eileen. She's badass and she brings a lot of happiness with her. He really loved that his brother was with her.

When the engine switches off, Eileen signs for Dean to follow her. He wonders if he should tell her exactly why he didn't continue to study ASL (Sam, it reminds him of Sam. Sam hunched over books and watching YouTube videos and making those damn flash cards and the two of them figuring it out, how to talk to Eileen, and  _SamSamSam_ …).

That's not an excuse. Dean knows Sam would agree that it is most definitely not an excuse for not becoming fluent in ASL. Because it was not about Dean, or hell, even Sam. And Dean should have learned it; he should have. He would be able to help Sam more efficiently and maybe… maybe Sam wouldn't be coming home that night instead of a few weeks earlier and maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.

 _"_ _So when are you going to pop the question?" Dean asks Sam, taking a swig of his beer._ It was Halloween and they'd been chatting on Skype. _Two days before Sam died._

_Sam smiles, clear as day. "When I learn how to say it in ASL."_

They'd found a ring among Sam's belongings. He had learned his ASL proposal. That was why he was headed home. He was going to ask Eileen to marry him. He was going to start a new phase of his life.

Dean stops there, vision blurring, just as Eileen turns to look at him. He feels her hands on him the next instant but he's pushing her away and running, running down an alley, his eyes burning, ears ringing, legs weak—

He retches into a dumpster. Pukes until there's nothing left. Until his stomach hurts and throat stings, until his eyes feel swollen and sore and useless. Until he's left with nothing. Nothing.

Not even the brother he grew up with.

**~o~**

"From the top, come on."

Dean's sitting in the dark corner of a rehearsal room and seeing but barely  _looking_  at the guy who's playing the jaw harp. He's not sure what Eileen pulled him into but this is not the kind of music he's really used to listening to. He doesn't mind it, it's soothing, but more than anything it's just background noise for him. White noise. The fact that the song is in a language he can't understand doesn't make things any easier. He's happy he has an excuse for not paying attention.

He wonders why Eileen is here. This is not her type of music either, not at all, and it's odd that she dragged him to this. Eileen is someone who likes percussion and lyrics. Beats that she can touch, words that she can read. Her tunes are her own, and God knows, Sam had a million recordings of them. Dean had them sent to Eileen afterwards. He doesn't know if she kept them. Maybe she did. But she never needed Sam as much as Dean did.

No one needed Sam as much as Dean did.

 _"_ _Dean?"_

_He's sitting outside on the porch stairs, tracing a finger along his forearm and drawing a pattern. The skin is puckered and a little sensitive, a crisscross of thin scars and cuts, but when he hears footsteps behind him he immediately shakes his sleeve over it all. His reality doesn't have to be someone else's._

_"_ _Dean."_

_He hears the screen door swinging shut and someone comes down to sit beside him. Soft. Innocent. Good._

_"_ _Sammy?"_

 _"_ _You forgot your pills."_

_A palm almost as big as his own. His little brother, only in high school, shouldering Dean's burden, holding two small pills out. Sam's never asked 'why.' Never told him to 'get over it.' He just cleaned the blood away, patched Dean up, and sat there. Sat there until Dean wanted to talk. And Dean never spoke, but Sam heard it all._

_Dean takes his pills from his brother and leans against a pillar after he's swallowed them dry. In the silence between him and Sam they talk a whole deal for hours and hours and hours._

Dean finds himself blinking away a stinging sensation in his eyes along with the memory. He turns back to the song, which, before proceeding to the first paragraph was stopped, and there is a woman barking out instructions about violins and harmonies and the chorus. It's Indian music, Dean knows enough to guess that one, and the room is full of brown men and women, all very professional and enthusiastic-looking and among them, a smattering of others who are not ethnically Indian, who are equally excited about it all.

"There is a big show coming up for them," Eileen tells Dean, and he turns to look at her. She seems to be at peace just where she is, watching them, and Dean, like every other time, is in awe of how she can be so calm. "My friend is performing," she says. "Thought you'd like the music."

"I… I do," Dean finds himself saying. "Who is this? Whose music?"

"His name is… AR Rahman," she says, pointing at a banner on a wall. Dean squints at it, takes a look at the man's face on the picture beside the name. Yup, seen him before, not heard his music a lot.

"That's the  _Slumdog Millionaire_  guy. Is this for some Indian holiday?" he asks Eileen.

"No, there's a music fest coming up and they have big celebrities attending," she says. "And I think, just like the music, you'll enjoy meeting my friend, too," she adds, winking slightly. "He's playing the violin."

Aw, hell no. Not today. Today is not for dating. Just casual sex and hookups. Not for someone's friend or someone he has to call back. He already couldn't erase all the Sharpie marks from his arm after last night. With that guy.

 _Cas_.

God, that had been amazing.

Dean pulls himself out of his ever-revolving thought process. "Eileen…" he says, "listen, this is really nice of you and all…"

"You don't have to do anything, Dean," she says. "You don't even have to meet him. You can go back home whenever you want to. But if you feel like it, it's an option."

He smiles. Of course. Of course she wouldn't do something like push one of her friends at him just like that. He can trust her. He knew he could trust her the day Sam revealed to him that he loved her.

Eileen returns Dean's smile. "So are we cool now?"

He nods. "Cool." He waits a moment, watching everyone prepare to play again. He hopes for their sakes that they get past the first paragraph this time. The jaw harp begins and he settles in at the chorus, a mix of voices in a strange language. It's got a hint of jazz, a mix of different cultural music but still prominently Indian. Dean shuts his eyes, trying to take it all in.

A woman sings the first paragraph, her voice flowing just like the music itself, in trills and vibrations but smooth and pleasing.

_Jiya jale jaan jale_

_Nainon tale_

_Dhua jale dhua jale_

Dean takes in a deep breath. He doesn't understand any of it, but somehow he does. The woman continues to sing, her voice lulling, trilling away to give way to the flute as the interlude begins. It starts off as slow and soulful, becoming fast and jazzy with a medley of guitars, a piano, drums and violins, with the jaw harp still eminent and it builds, getting faster until—

Dean's mind shifts from its thoughts when the violin solo starts. The violin solo that will start everything.

It is smooth and sexy and emotional, full of love and longing. It's bright, warm with little, delicate trills, flowing seamlessly, no gaps or hitches, and Dean has goosebumps when Eileen tugs on his sleeve, telling him that this is her friend, this is who she wanted to set him up with. However it does not completely sink in until Dean's searching eyes meet those of the violinist and his heart stops.

This is Cas. The same Cas who Dean was thinking of just moments ago. The sexy stranger, the one night stand Dean hadn't planned on revisiting, even if it had been one of his best.

The toussled hair and the blue eyes and the wet, ridged lips and the rough hand with the calloused fingers.

This is Cas.  _Cas_ , from last night.

**~o~**

If Dean's grandchildren ever ask him how he first met the love of his life, he will have to fabricate the entire story. He doesn't, of course, know that yet. That he will have to even  _think_  of fabricating his story, because today Cas is, well, his Grindr hookup from last night. He'd seen the details, pictures, liked them, and sent a message with his home address. Cas had sent just one reply, "OK." When the doorbell rang an hour later and Dean answered, there were no hellos, no pleasantries. Just kissing, stripping, and sex and sex and sex.

Right now Cas's nimble fingers pluck on the strings of the violin in the same way that they undid Dean's buttons, the bow going across smoothly, sharp and perfect and like the angles of his hip bones.

Dean's stomach churns, every cell in his body sways with the melody. He drowns himself in the music, drinking it all in and he doesn't know how time flies by, doesn't even realise the minutes passing until everything drops into silence. Silence that lasts just a moment but stretches into an eternity when Dean meets Cas's eyes again. And that is the very moment that he gets up to leave, walks out of the studio for a cigarette while the artists pack up their instruments.

He fumbles with his Zippo until it lights, holding it to his cigarette until he sees the satisfying orange glow of its end. He takes a long drag, holding it in and savouring it before leaning against a tree, blowing out plumes of smoke from between his lips. It does nothing to ease him and he's only taken two drags when he hears Eileen call out to him.

"Dean?"

His stomach churns a little. He knows Eileen doesn't really feel comfortable around cigarette smoke so he throws it down, crushes it underneath his shoe, and turns around to face her, only to realise that she's here with Cas. Cas, whose eyes narrow ever so slightly, head tilting as he assesses Dean.

Eileen jerks her thumb at the guy. "This is Cas."

Dean half smiles, walking up to him. Oh well, both he and Cas were stone cold sober and consenting, know what happened last night, and remember it all too well, so there is no point pretending. Besides, Eileen doesn't care about his sex life. He shrugs, holding out his hand. "Dean Winchester. I didn't get a chance to introduce myself yesterday."

Ignoring Eileen's confusion, Cas obliges by taking Dean's hand, rolls back Dean's sleeve with the other. It's all a little confusing until Dean feels the familiarity of calloused fingers tracing his skin, going over the Sharpie marks remaining from last night's encounter. When Cas sees the remains from Dean's vigorous scrubbing, he's smirking, too. He lets Dean go, gives him a mock salute, and leaves without a single word.

"Well, he's a dick," Dean calls out but Cas seems unperturbed, vanishing into the dark evening without another glance. Dean turns his back, wishing he'd kept the cigarette, and takes out his car keys. "C'mon, Eileen."

She's confused as they walk back. "What just happened?"

"I fucked him last night," Dean tells her and she just looks at him for a minute, maybe even more, before giving him a smile.

"Damn! I was hoping I knew one guy you hadn't already been with."

"Hey," Dean nudges her, "I'm not that bad, okay?"

"Okay," she laughs, "so you want to grab dinner? I'm starving."

Dean's barely hungry but he obliges. "Sure. I know a decent place around this part of town."

Eileen raises an eyebrow. "Dean Winchester calling a restaurant 'decent'? Must be good."

"There're places other than mine that serve food other than burgers, you know. But if you wanted to eat at a burger joint…"

She puts a hand on his elbow. "It's your day off," she says, "come on. We'll eat somewhere that you don't have to cook."

He scoffs. "I  _took_  the day off, Eileen, it's not a…" he bites his lip, "you know. Holiday."

"I know." She doesn't say anything else, just leads him to her car. Once again, Dean has to battle with his brain to think of something other than Sam and Cas to cover up for the rest of the silence between him and Eileen.

**~o~**

Dean has been the family cook for several years now. Growing up with a working mom and stay-at-home dad had taught Dean to reject gender roles very early in life and he's always liked his meats and his burgers and generally, food. So cooking was never a big deal for him once he was deemed old enough to handle fire.

Dad had let go of his mechanic job to take care of Sam and Dean when it became clear that they needed more attention than two parents with full time jobs could give them. It had been the natural choice, because Mom was a doctor with a blooming career, working towards her fellowship in oncology, and they knew her income would be good enough for them to live a decent life.

When Dean was eighteen his dad passed away from a stroke. It was him and Sammy and Mom then and Dean, who hadn't been looking to get a college degree anyway, realised that he made a great cook when he started feeding his family, and decided that a career involving making burgers was not a bad one at all. He had help from Mom and Sam in setting up his own burger joint and today it's doing pretty well, being featured on food blogs and must-eat listicles and all the crap that seems to matter to get customers.

Dean wouldn't boast about being featured on magazines and stuff, but if you ask him, yes, it's happened, and he isn't a celebrity chef or anything, but he's damn good at what he does. His unchanging menu and service and burgers are helping him sustain a life with whatever he needs and no, maybe he's not rich, but he is well off.

Sammy lived his own dream by getting a full ride at Stanford and going on to finishing law school there before settling in as a professor in Palo Alto. If Dean didn't know better, he'd say that Sam's love for that university was a little too much to be normal. But he'd miss his brother, even if Sam drove to Lawrence to visit Dean and Mary often and Skyped them religiously over the weekends. To add to that it was during one such trip home that Sam had met Eileen at the local animal shelter, when he'd decided to visit there to meet the animals. Not only did Sam befriend a perfectly beautiful golden retriever named Bones, he also found the love of his life.

It was magical and vomit-inducing and beautiful and every other thing that you could say, and Dean now wishes he hadn't thought they were too happy, wishes he hadn't shook his head at his fairytale family. For he could give up his soul for what could have been. He could take their lives back just as they were, stupidly apple pie and all too normal and too good to imagine, because when it went to hell, it collapsed badly enough that he doesn't think he'll ever climb out of the pit that he is in.

It's been six months, but losing Sammy still hasn't gotten any easier.

Dean sighs, shaking the memories away as he holds a cigarette between his fingers to grab his glass of whiskey. He can barely taste it as it goes down, alcohol, smoke, and grief, and whatever else he tastes of. It's like he's been numb for a very long time. When he sets the glass down and takes another drag of his cigarette, his eyes are stinging.

He fans away the smoke. Stupid thing makes his eyes burn. And no, it's not the pain deep down, not the pain in his chest and throat that's making him tear up. It's the cigarette and the smoke and stupid, stupid, God, Sammy would yell if he knew…

_It causes cancer, Dean. Mom is an oncologist. You should know better!_

The room around Dean spins a little and blurs. He puts his hand on the coffee table, cigarette still held between his first two fingers as he leans ahead on his couch with his head down. Through watery eyes he can see plumes of smoke rise, the burning black-and-orange end giving birth to them, white and almost pure, like they've been purging his soul.

Sammy wouldn't think so. He would scold Dean and throw it all away.

A tear falls on the wooden tabletop, and then two more. Dean sniffs and drags his sleeve across his face before tossing the butt into the ashtray. It lies there, still smoking out white swirls, and Dean folds his arms around himself as he leans back on his couch and stares at the ceiling. He hurts. He hurts all over, something pinching at him and prickling him from a place he cannot reach. A part of him he cannot rest. He hurts from memories and thoughts and the million signals his brain seems to be firing, none of them for anything physical.

Clenching his fists once, Dean reaches over to drain the last of his whiskey and then pushes himself off the couch so he can wash it. He's at the sink, running the glass through the water and watching the tiny droplets trail away when he notices it on the counter.

The knife. Small and slim and silver. He'd kept it there after cutting…  _something,_  and if he could just… one more time…

Just to take the edge off the pain.

His hand is grasping at cool metal and he shakes back his sleeves to the familiar crisscross of scars, both old and new. Cas had seen these last night, he realises, and he seems to have been one of the few of Dean's dates who didn't look repulsed or, alternatively, ask why it was there. Cas's company had been just right last night. His silent gestures, grooved, gentle lips, hot breaths and muscular thighs. His rough hands and the warmth and presence of him.

It had helped push the pain to the back; something that wasn't very common for Dean, and as he shakes his sleeves further back to see the Sharpie marks that remain on his arm, he longs for Cas.

Dean's breath shudders when he drops the knife and grabs his phone with shaking fingers to text Eileen.

He leans against the kitchen counter, wiping his eyes again, and when Eileen responds with Cas's number and a winkie face, he could swear that his heart is thudding against his chest, like thunder before a storm, drums in a procession. He saves Cas's number and starts texting, not expecting him to reply, not expecting him to even look. However, a minute later, Dean's phone pings and the drums in his chest beat quicker as he looks.

 **Cas N. :** **_I'll be over to your place as soon as I can._ **

And this, Dean would like to say, is how their story starts.


	2. Rishabham

Sam wishes he'd visited his family over the summer. It had been a mess, a bad time, a period of fear and secrecy because of one test report that he'd received from one of his routines at the hospital. A report, a doctor's diagnosis that sent the entire world around him spinning off its axis.

 _"_ _Mr Winchester, your test reports are indicative of Hodgkin's Lymphoma…"_

 _"_ _Cancer."_

 _"_ _There are two treatment regimens available; ABVD, which is traditional chemotherapy, and a new drug in the market, called 'Lymphostat'."_

Sam read about them both. Read and read and researched, and made his decision. But that was before he was taken. One evening, from the campus, and he's not known anything but this room and the labs ever since. He doesn't know how many people are here. Just that there are many like him. He's only ever met Charlie, it was on accident, and now she knows how to sneak out of her room to talk to Sam. They don't know how to escape, though. Six months and they still know nothing.

He hugs his knees to chest, wishing he'd told Dean about the diagnosis. Wishing he'd known to question and investigate further before he was trapped in this mess.

He wonders if his brother misses him as much as he does. If Eileen moved on. If Mom is all right.

Sam wonders if, even under the unlikely circumstances that this all ends, he will ever be all right again.

**~o~**

Cas, turns up to Dean's place in a white shirt and jeans with a tan trenchcoat that looks like it was thrown on in a hurry. The first few buttons of the shirt are undone, revealing a few curly chest hairs and all Dean wants to do is wrap his legs around him and let Cas take him slowly and gently and roughly all at once.

He can already feel his boner growing, right at the sight of Cas, even before he pushes Dean up against the wall and kisses him, hands moving past the waistband of Dean's boxers to encourage the tent.

It's easy to get lost in Cas; to sink into him. He takes Dean the same way that he handles his music: commands and moulds Dean into his wishes, all firm and loving and fingers and breaths and so,  _so_ hot. Cas is made of marks from his violin, calluses on his hands and his jaw all rough and harsh while the rest of him is just as gentle and soft and calm. Dean lets Cas undress him, feels him, feels his touch, his lips kissing— _moist and soft and ridged_ —and those hands running over everything and everywhere Dean has ever  _felt—_ every hurt, every happiness, everything and everything and  _everything_.

Cas kisses Dean's neck and jaw; motions for Dean to stay down, to let him do it, and it's all Dean needs right now—to bite his lips through the butterfly kisses, feel trails of Cas's saliva and the tickle of his breaths and let his body and nerves jump and drown in the passion of it. Soon Cas's mouth is on Dean's chest, on his nipples, sucking, tongue flicking all warm and wet, soft but relentless, and then more, further down, feather light and between hot breaths. Cas is at Dean's navel when Dean gasps, body arching, current flowing through to the very ends of his nerve cells. Cas's fingers go on to snake lower down, lips still indulging Dean, and Dean shuts his eyes to take it all in, letting Cas spread his legs apart, letting him wrap Dean around his hips just like Dean wanted but never said, just like he hoped Cas to make him do.

There is shifting, sighing. Dean waits, listens to the crackle of a packet opening, listens to the wet slap of hands on skin, and lets lubed fingers enter him, his gasps quiet and lost in everything that's happening as his world spins and crackles around him. Cas comes up to palm Dean's cheek, getting him to open his eyes, and it all swirls, all goes by in a flurry as Dean sees blue and blue and blue, his body rocking against Cas's, heels and fingers resting on the firm flesh of Cas's back. They go on, bedsprings groaning and groaning to mask the pleasure; sighing and gasping, until Dean comes with a cry, leaving finger marks on Cas, crescent nails, half-moons on skin and Cas moves and moves, grinds and rocks and thrusts until he's coming, too.

They stay like that when Cas gets off, huffing, sweating, looking into each other's eyes and saying absolutely nothing because something, something's between them that still crackles, currents shifting through to their very souls, and they both feel it, as strong and real and powerful as the wind and the rain and the sun while they talk and talk and talk without saying a single word.

Cas is dozing off when Dean decides to clean them up. He moves around, feeling the coolness of water while he remembers the warmth of Cas and it's the best thing he's ever felt. He smiles at his ruffled sheets, at the little marks on Cas's back, and when he comes to lie back down next to Cas, it feels like nothing else matters anymore.

**~o~**

Sam isn't expecting Charlie to sneak out to meet him today. The guards are patrolling their corridor—as far as Sam can tell from whatever he has been able to see now, they're in a hospital building, a warded off area serving as a lab, and he knows that the government authorities are involved somehow because there is no way they're being kept in such a not-so-secretive place and no one has come to bust them out yet.

The people here are hand-in-glove with the government. And Charlie knows, they've discussed it. So when she enters Sam has to look around outside to make sure no one caught her. The last time they discovered someone trying to do the same…

… his name is Andy Gallagher and no one's seen him ever since.

"Dude," Charlie says, and she's jumpy so Sam nods, sitting beside her on his bed. Sterile, white room, sterile, white bed, a small cupboard with green scrubs and that's all they get, that's all they possess. An en-suite as if that defines some kind of luxury.

"Charlie," he says, "you know it's dangerous. When they caught Andy—"

"Forget about that," Charlie says, eyes wide and a sheen of sweat on her forehead. "I found a way to get out of here and we need to move now."

**~o~**

It turns out, Cas can't talk. It's saying something that Dean did not even realise that until the next morning when he asked what Cas wanted for breakfast. Cas figured out just as much and signed that he could use some toast and coffee but then stopped, eyes questioning.

Dean pulls out a clean mug from the cabinet and puts it next to Cas on the table. "I know some ASL," he says, signing slowly, even though he's pretty sure Cas can hear him, judging by what he's noticed in the last two days. "I… can't sign very well. It could be better."

"You should learn it," Cas signs back. "You don't need to sign back to me because my hearing is functional, but it is a useful language to know."

"Yeah," Dean says, blood rushing up his cheeks. "I'll…" He brings his hands up and signs hesitantly, "I'll sign back to you and Eileen to practice."

"How do you know Eileen?" Cas asks him.

"She was my brother's girlfriend… um…" Dean's hands shake as soon as he signs that and he turns away as he lets them fall to his sides, fists clenching to stop the tremors. He moves ahead and pops two slices of bread into the toaster and when he turns around, Cas is sipping on his coffee as if nothing just happened.

And… yes. Nothing happened, Dean reminds himself. Sam's gone and Dean has to learn to accept it. He can't be like this forever. Eileen was right last night. It's high time he gained some control from falling apart every time he has to mention Sam. He might be spooking too many people with this.

Dean pours himself some coffee and joins Cas at the table. "So. What's that music you played last night?"

"Did you like it?" Cas asks him, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

"I guess?" says Dean. "I mean, I haven't heard that stuff before… but you know. You and your violin… pretty cool."

"Thank you," Cas replies, fingers trembling a bit as he signs and Dean realises that he was nervous. "You should really come over to my home," Cas continues. "I have a collection."

Somehow, Dean doesn't doubt that he will be seeing this collection very soon. He scratches at the back of his head. "Uh… I actually don't know what kind of music that was… not too well."

Cas moves ahead and grabs Dean's telephone pad and a pen.  _AR Rahman_ , he writes.  _Carnatic music._

"So Indian music."

Cas nods. "Yes. A type of Indian music."

"Cool," Dean grins. "I'm more of a classic rock guy, but I kinda dug that."

Cas looks away, a little flustered, as he signs, "Thank you."

The toast pops out ready at that moment and Dean grabs a plate to put them on, along with marmalade and butter. He sets them before Cas and reaches for his cereal as he contemplates the rest of the day, thinking about the phone call he needs to make to Mom after ignoring most social contact yesterday. She won't be happy and he knows it's crappy to have ignored her when she must be going through shit just like him, but he couldn't get himself to think all that much yesterday.

So, yep, calling Mom it is. Then he needs to get to work.

Dean has his breakfast in the silence of Cas's presence, his mind at ease and body relaxed. He wants to ask Cas out again but he's not sure, not this time because he'd called Cas last night when he'd needed some company and…

A hand on his shoulder pulls him away from his thoughts. He looks up as Cas signs something to him, and blinks. "What?"

"I have to go home," Cas repeats, signing slower this time. "Will you text me tomorrow?"

Dean nods. "Cool. How about tonight?"

"Not home," Cas tells him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay," Dean says as Cas starts to stand up, and gets up with him so he can walk him to the door. "Let me know when you're back."

Cas grabs his trenchcoat from the couch and turns around. "I will." Dean watches him slide each arm into a tan sleeve and thinks of the muscles rippling beneath. Cas doesn't look it, but damn is he all beefed up. Dean really lucked out on that one Grindr match.

"Hey, Cas," he says, and Cas stops just outside of the door. Dean eyes him for a second, leaning in to kiss him, and Cas obliges, catching Dean's lips in his, tongue tracing the side of Dean's mouth. Dean can feel his face grow warm when they separate. "I'll see you," he says, a little out of breath and a whole lot in a hurry because he can already feel himself tenting again.

Cas's eyes, as though he could hear Dean's thoughts, trail down to Dean's crotch. He smirks, the same smirk from outside the studio last night, chewing on the side of his lip as he pushes Dean against the threshold, grinding against him when they're close enough. His hand reaches into Dean's boxers for his dick and Dean's whole world spins and lights up just at the touch. He hits his head on the doorframe with a gasp and he lets Cas kiss him again, lets him bite at his lips and jaw and earlobe, growing harder and heart beating faster and faster until he comes with a low moan.

Through the daze and the buzz of his mind, he can just about see Cas's grin as he leaves, and Dean barely holds himself together long enough to shut the door before he slides down the wall, a smile forming on his warm, sweaty face at the awesomeness of it all. He tries to catch his breaths, reign in the unreal euphoria, but to be honest he doesn't want to, because it's been so long since he's felt this good, that he lives in it until he can—until he has to move on with the day and let his mind remind him, once again, as to why life might not be worth living anymore.

**~o~**

Cas's drive home is full of smiles and music. He's got a lot of work to do today, work that he is not fond of, but being with Dean definitely gave the day a good start. And the fact that Dean wants to meet again makes Cas happier about it all.

Dean is a sexy, gentle lover, calm on the surface, but Cas noticed that there are storms lurking underneath that Dean tries not to address. He doesn't know why, and he wishes he could help Dean but he also will never push him for it. Maybe if they continue like this… maybe if it all stays this good…

Cas smiles wider and takes a deep breath. Dean Winchester. He's a blizzard and a tornado and he is full of surprises. He is also one of the most beautiful people Cas has ever met.

Oh, he cannot wait to see Dean Winchester again.

When Cas gets home, thoughts of Dean swirling through him, there is only one thing that manages to distract him from it all. It's a sound—actually, two sounds, sounds that he'll never tire of, sounds he's been longing for since he left the home last evening, and he rushes to go see them.

Unlike Dean's small but cosy house, Cas lives in a tiny, cluttered apartment—it's all he can afford with everything in his life right now and he tries to not be annoyed with how there is almost no space to move around. However, all the frustration and anger dissolves when he enters his bedroom to spot the two souls he loves the most in this planet—his kittens.

He'd found them outside the apartment building, orphaned and abandoned, a couple of weeks old with their eyes still bright blue, shivering and too tiny to be by themselves, and with Eileen as a friend, who he knew would guide through caring for them, he'd taken them in without hesitation. The joy he'd felt when he'd held them in his hands for the first time was unlike any other emotion he'd ever experienced, and he's never regretted keeping them.

They're both females; one a mischievous, light brown tabby and the other a more innocent but talkative kitten with darker brown coat, royal tiger stripes decorating her, with black fur on top, going down her little head and her back. He's named them Ginger and Charcoal, and yes, he knows ginger cats are a whole different colour, but he went with his instincts. Although for obvious reasons, they've never actually heard him call them that. They don't seem to care, though. They've never cared, unlike so many people in Cas's life, that he's poor or that he's gay or that he can't talk. They're just content to cuddle and play and make Cas happy. They don't need a language to understand him at all.

At four weeks old, they've not even been with Cas an entire fortnight, but they are already his entire life.

When Ginger spots him she comes running to him, Charcoal after her, and stops to rub herself against his ankles. Charcoal circles his legs, giant eyes looking up at him as she mews.

Cas chuckles.  _All right._  He reaches to them and kneels before them, taking them both in his arms. Ginger immediately leaps onto his shoulder to knead at his head and Charcoal mews and mews until he rests her against his free shoulder and runs his hand over her back, getting her to deflate and purr up a whole storm. After making sure Ginger has settled herself on him and is not about to fall off, Cas gets up from his place to go fix them a meal so he can start making arrangements for his trip to Wichita.

He will be taking them with him, of course. He needs them every step of the way now. The hotel he'll be put up in does not allow pets but he's planning on hiding them in his backpack. Hopefully, Charcoal will not decide to have an argument with him while he's trying to sneak them in.

He puts the kittens down on the kitchen floor and goes to get the kibble out. They start mewing the moment they realise what he's up to, Ginger leaping forward to climb his jeans, and Cas grimaces at needle-claws on his flesh as he puts the kibble into bowls and reaches for the flask of warm water. Charcoal is still looking up at him from the ground, mewing consistently, and he gently gets Ginger off his leg and puts the soggy, watered kibble down on the floor, waiting long enough for the kittens to attack it before deciding to shower.

He is dressed and packed in the next half-hour and is ready to go. He counts the cash in his wallet, takes a look at his coffee table, stacked with unpaid bills, and glances at the old violin in the corner, sitting in its case, not having had a voice for so many years. He's been using a newer one for a while now. Ever since… ever since.

Ever since he got the new one.

Cas shuts his eyes and blocks out a shiver. He heads to his room, finds Ginger and Charcoal cuddling on his bed, and lifts them up to put them into his backpack. They start mewing, offended that he disturbed their nap, but the moment they're in the blanketed nest he's made for them in his bag, they both resort to flashing him the stink-eye for barely a second before they decide to forgive him and get to kneading the blankets, purring. He counts that as a decent show of affection from them.

"I love you, too," he signs to them, looking into the bag, but they're too busy kneading.

Cas closes the zipper most of the way, leaving ample space to air it up for his cats, and gets his arms into the straps of the bag. He looks around his apartment to see if he's forgotten anything. When it seems like he hasn't, he shuts the door and waits outside, taking a deep breath.

 _Everything is all right,_  he repeats to himself like a mantra.  _It's all just routine. It's all just routine._

Plus, when he comes back tomorrow, he can see Dean.

He keeps the prospect of Dean and Dean's face and body and voice in his heart as he hails a cab to take him to the bus station. He can believe for a moment, maybe just for a moment, that everything is actually going to be all right.

If not, there is always Dean. And for some reason, that really comforts him.

**~o~**

Mary is having a hard day when her phone rings with Dean's name on the screen. She lets herself smile at that and puts her files away for a minute, shaking her short hair back as she accepts the call.

"Hey, Dean," she says, fondness filling her up at the thought of him.

 _"_ _Hi, Mom. Uh, you busy?"_

"A little, but we can talk. What are you up to?"

 _"_ _Oh. Um, nothing much, really. I just called to say hey."_

"And we've already said that."

 _"_ _Right."_  Dean pauses and Mary waits, silence stretching between them. She knows why he's calling today, and why he ignored practically everyone and everything yesterday. She doesn't hold it against him. It's no secret that Sam's death hit him the hardest. And Mary may not be a part of the little world her sons built around themselves, but she was a witness to some of it and they deserved a lot better than this.

 _"_ _Mom,"_  Dean finally whispers, and Mary turns her attention back to him.

"Yeah," she says, "right here. How are you doing?"

He scoffs from the other side and she can hear the sadness dripping off his voice.  _"I'm okay. I know I should have called yesterday, but I, uh… I was busy doing some stuff, so…"_

He probably had someone over. Mary palms at the little bruise on her neck, her own way of trying to live through her younger son's memories, and thinks of just how similar they all are in their stupid little damaged family. It makes her smile.

 _"_ _What happened?"_ Dean asks her.

"Nothing," she says, pulling out one of the files she had thrust aside, flipping through the latest reports. It's Hodgkin's Lymphoma again—a young patient. Ah, crap, she'll have to have them take an appointment, because Dr. Irwin, whom they were referring to, is on vacation, and any detection of cancer pretty much means treatment  _right the fuck now._ Especially since this one has a high survival rate with early detection.

Thankfully the meds are better and more advanced these days. And as much as Mary hates Dick Roman and his moneymaking pharmaceutical company, his new drug, Lymphostat is taking over the market. All the oncologists seem really happy with it; even though it hasn't been around for long.

 _"_ _Mom,"_  Dean says again and this time she swears under her breath because she's zoned out thrice already.

"Sorry. Tell me, Dean."

 _"_ _Think we can meet this weekend?"_

Damn, she hasn't seen his sweet face in a while. She smiles. "Sure, kiddo. Where do you wanna go?"

 _"_ _Steaks n' Salads? You know that stupid place that…" Sammy liked the most_. Yes. Yes, he did. Dean doesn't have to remind Mary.

"Of course," she says. "I'll pick you up after work on Saturday. Is that okay?"

 _"_ _Yeah, that's cool."_

"Good. I'll see you then."

 _"_ _Okay."_

"And hey, I love you."

She can practically  _see_  him smiling and her heart feels a hundred times lighter. He clears his throat and waits for a second to reply.  _"Yeah,"_  he says,  _"yeah, Mom, me, too."_

Mary puts her phone down, preparing herself for another hell of a day. She has a few follow-ups today and she's got some PET scans and things are positive and negative and here and there but she's mostly just immune now. Of course, she doesn't like to deliver bad news, and none of this means that losing a patient is okay, but she'd been prepared even before her residency for this. She had not chosen this field to have a bleeding heart.

She picks up the new file for Dr. Irwin and heads out of her office to the nurse's station. Erin's at the desk when Mary approaches them and slides the file across. "Hey, have Reception call them to get their blood reports and see me, would you? It's—" She opens the file, her breath catching in her throat when she sees the name. She had not noticed that. Oh shit, how had she not noticed that before?

Mary looks up at Erin, feeling like her heart is dissolving, sinking into her stomach. "T-The patient's name is Jo Harvelle."

**~o~**

The bus ride to Wichita is uneventful and as usual, Cas is checked into a swanky hotel, courtesy of his sponsors. The Bible in his room has his food money, with directions to some of the best eateries in town. It's almost as if they think giving him a good room and food for a day and paying off his bills makes up for everything they cost him.

As if.

There is only one reason for Cas to come here. Just one.

He sets his bag down and checks in on his girls, who are cuddled up and fast asleep. Smiling, he sets up their portable litter box on one side of the room, gets their blankets out of his other bag and gently reaches to lift them out of his backpack.

Charcoal lets out a tiny mew and cuddles into his fingers but Ginger, like the heathen that she is, doesn't bother to so much as move, with her neck hanging back and tongue slightly out, ears still uselessly standing alert, as if she is going to wake up at any moment. Cas draws back his bedcovers and puts his cats on the mattress before tucking them into their blanket. He checks his watch and realises he has time before his little task, so he pulls his phone out, sets an alarm, and snuggles in with the kittens.

He tries not to think about what lies ahead today and the wrongness of it all as he falls asleep. He is doing a good thing, he reminds himself. At least, this is what is good for his family, and anyway, he's not hurting anyone. Everything is going to go just fine. He need not feel guilty, even if all of this does somewhat anger him.

The kittens help him sleep, even if those thoughts to himself don't, and before Cas knows it, he too, is in another realm just like Ginger and her little face at the crook of his elbow.

**~o~**

"So when are you gonna tell me about the mystery dude?"

Dean's working ground beef into patties when Benny asks him the question and for a moment, just for a moment, Dean looks up and smiles. "Who the fuck told you about any mystery dudes?"

"Through the grapevine." Benny finishes wrapping a burger and puts it in a basket along with fries. "I thought you'd tell me somethin', but it's close to lunch and I haven't heard a peep. So I needed to ask."

Dean watches him, eyes narrowed. "Let me guess," he says, "was it Eileen?"

Benny winks at him and slides the tray across to Garth, who goes on to deliver it to the customer's table. "So it's true."

"What, so you're into gossip now?" Dean asks him.

Benny shrugs and looks like he's about to make a wisecrack, but then his shoulders slump and his mouth contorts.  _Fuck_ , Dean thinks,  _sympathy_.

"Dean," Benny says, "I don't wanna piss you off, man, because I know that a hell a lot of people must be sayin' this—"

"Then don't," Dean replies, voice catching in his throat. "Don't say it. Don't piss me off."

"Yesterday…" Benny trails off, and really, that's when something breaks. Something shatters, smithereens everywhere from the weight of Benny's voice and words and slumped shoulders. Dean knows then that he is done, really  _done_  and he can't even take a moment more—a millisecond more of this shit. He clenches his jaw, puts the patty down.

"Yesterday  _what_ , Benny?"

Benny stops in the middle of wrapping up another burger. "Yesterday… er… you know."

"Yeah," Dean tells him. "I know. It was Sammy's birthday and it was his six-month anniversary of being dead. And I fucked some guy and I wish you fuckers would stop talking about me like I'm some fucking injured puppy.  _Jesus fuck,_ man!" He can't stand to be here anymore. He needs an out, needs to be somewhere else where he can be on his own and  _forget, forget, forget._

He's out through the backdoor before he realises it, rushing into the alley behind the shop, the ghost of Benny's voice in his ears and his chest hurting with too-fast breaths. He has to hold on to the brick wall when blackness starts to creep into his vision, legs giving away before he knows it.

He crouches, listens to his own aborted breathing but they just keep going too fast, lungs working too much to get in any air, just like his heart and fuck, fuck, fuck…

_Dean, breathe. You gotta take deep breaths._

Sam's voice is in his ears, an echo from the past; a memory. A large hand on his shoulder, a comforting presence.

Everything spins, and Dean's on his ass on the dirty street.

 _Come on, Dean,_ says Sam. _It won't work if you don't do as I say. I know it's hard, but listen to me, okay? In, out, in, out…_

Tears race down his cheeks, wetting his skin, dripping onto his jeans. His hands still stink of ground beef, even with his palms splayed on dusty asphalt and he listens, listens to Sam's voice.

_in_

_out_

_in_

_out_

_in_

_out_

_breathebreathebreathebreathe_

_Sam's all burnt. His face doesn't look like Sam, like the little brother Dean made fun of. Like the little brother he took care of and protected at all costs. Like the little brother who stuck by him no matter what. He's gone, just consumed by fire like it's some damned joke, just gone and gone and dead._

_Dean puts a hand to his little brother's head._

_"_ _Dean, honey…" Mom's by his side, clutching his elbow, but Dean strokes the remaining of Sam's hair back. The hair that didn't get burnt off._

_He's rocking a little Sam in his arms and comforting an older Sam because this… this must hurt Sam, the wounds are so bad. They're so bad, they stopped Sam's heart. They must hurt._

_Hey Jude don't make it bad_

_Dean's hand slides over Sam's ravaged forehead._

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better._

Dean's eyes shut, head against dirty bricks, face wet and throat sore as he sings, sings until he can't sing anymore because Sammy… Sammy was hurting and he couldn't do anything. Couldn't stop him from going away. Dying.

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid_

_You were made to go out and get her_

_The minute you let her under your skin_

_Then you begin to make it better_

Somewhere above Dean, the skies open up, thundering and sparking up with lightning bolts and it seems like, if there is a God, if there ever was a God, this is exactly how he'd cry for Sam, too.

**~o~**

Cas stands outside of the gigantic hospital, his backpack strapped on and his heart beating fast. He's used to this now, been used to this for two years, and it is pretty much standard procedure. A blood and urine sample, blood pressure and weight monitoring, an ultrasound and an MRI of his brain… and that's it. Earlier, Cas's blood pressure would shoot up to unbelievable levels but now it's controlled and he takes medication regularly. They still need it for his records, though. Statistical data, they say.

Once he enters and registers himself at the reception desk, he is directed to the third floor. They have an extra corridor back there with the hospital beds, and a stairway leading upstairs to a whole separate wing, off-limits to anyone who is unauthorised. That's where the labs are and sometimes Cas can't help but appreciate how prolific  _they_  are, despite having some idea of their intention now, knowing that this place is nothing but evil.

He is in room 312 as usual and this time his room partner is a young, sickly man with long hair. Cas takes the hospital gown laid down on his bed and gets changed, eyeing the other man briefly before dissolving into his own thoughts. He wonders what trials they're conducting now.

The nurse arrives and breaks Cas out of his reverie. "M-40103?" she confirms, and he nods. It was his assigned number when he'd signed up for the trials.

The nurse takes out a syringe, blood bulbs, and a urine container. She takes Cas's weight, measures his abdominal girth, and asks him to go urinate into the container. Once Cas has done that, she bags the container and attaches him to the cardiac monitor to measure his vitals. She takes blood next, fills them in the vials and shakes some of them, labelling them with a Sharpie and placing them in a tray on her cart. She proceeds to place Cas's file at the receptacle at the foot of his bed.

"Someone will come in a bit to take you for the scans," she says at long last. "Use the call button if you need anything until then."

"Okay," Cas signs, not sure if she understood but she doesn't respond, going on to check on Cas's roommate.

Cas can't help but look when she changes the other man's IV bag. He must be in his early thirties and he is mostly unconscious, eyes rolling open as sweat pours down his forehead. He looks briefly at Cas, his lips muttering something which, when Cas strains to listen to, bewilders him.

The man's got stubble on his chin—it's like someone trims his beard for him but doesn't shave it off for the fear of cutting him. His hair has been cut in an unruly way but it is still long.

He looks oddly familiar to Cas.

The nurse injects something into the man's IV port and Cas watches him slip back into unconsciousness, trying to ignore the sudden nagging in his head about where he's seen this man. It is possible they were roommates before during one of their visits? For some reason, Cas doesn't think that's it. And he looks and looks at the other man until the nurse pulls the curtain shut between them and Cas has nothing left but bland movies on the TV and the words that the young man was uttering, running around his mind.

 _"_ _Hey Jude don't make it bad…"_

It continues to haunt Cas for the rest of the day. The lyrics, the man, and the questions.


	3. Gaandharam

Dean wakes up to beeping and white walls and it takes him less than a minute to realise that he's in a hospital. His body aches, head pounds, and nausea boils in the pit of his stomach, so it takes a couple of minutes for him to stop staring at the green curtains before him and notice a soft, gentle hand on his forehead. He recognises it immediately.

"M-Mom?" His voice is hoarse and as his eyes focus on her, he notices that she was asleep, too, because her eyes are just opening and she blinks at him before reaching to push her hair out of her face.

"Dean," she whispers, face relaxing a little as her shoulders slump. "How are you feeling?"

Like he had been hit by a truck, but he's not about to tell her that. "I'm fantastic," he says, instead. "Amazing. Can't wait to blow this popsicle stand."

She chuckles a little as she cards her hand through his hair. She's still in her scrubs, stethoscope draped around her neck. It looks like she came straight here after her shift. She raises her eyebrow. "You're lying about your health to a person who happens to be a doctor  _and_  your mom, you know."

"Yeah, pretty unfortunate, that combo," he says. "But really, I, uh…" He shifts his eyes around, observing the room he's in. "Why am I here?"

"Benny found you passed out in the alleyway behind your shop," she replies. "Dean, I told you, if you—"

"I'm okay, Mom."

"Are you really lying to me again?"

"No," he insists. "I'm okay. And I'll be better when you guys stop treating me like a helpless baby."

"Sweetheart, you're not helpless," she says, "you're just—"

"What, sad? Grieving?  _Depressed_?"

"Dean."

"I'm okay," he repeats, looking into her eyes. "I'm doing all right. I'm doing as good as anybody who lost their brother six months ago  _can_  do, Mom. And you guys gotta let me be and stop worrying."

She crosses her arms. "Yeah? Should we? Should we not be worried when you're unconscious in some alley? Should we not be worried when you smoke like a chimney, or when you get drunk or not show up to work or ignore all of us?"

"Most of that crap literally just happened once. And that was yesterday."

"Okay, then," she says, voice resigned but also annoyed. "We're all sorted, I guess."

"Yes, I am. And I ain't staying in this hospital any longer, either."

His mother opens her mouth to say something, her eyes pleading, and for a moment Dean thinks she is about to argue her case. A moment later, however, she's standing up and putting her stethoscope on the chair she'd been occupying. "I'll sign you out AMA," she says, the emotion in her voice dissolving.

Dean can't bear to look into her eyes. "Thanks." He watches her walk away, lets his own emotions diffuse into the whiteness and sterility around him as well, just like his mother has been doing all this while.

Well, don't the two of them put the  _fun_  in dysfunctional in a big fucking way after all. Dean would laugh if he doesn't fear that he'll start crying instead, so he saves himself the embarrassment and pretends to make a song of the beeping monitors.

Not very far away from Dean and unknown to him, in a different place but similar room, Sam wakes up with the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, the memory of a curious pair of blue eyes looking at him, and his brother's name in his tongue. They'd tried—he and Charlie had tried, but they'd been caught, and the orderlies made them inhale something that put them both out but had Sam puking and puking the moment he woke up and they kept him in the hospital to control it. He'd still been so out of it then but there was someone else there… he wishes he could have asked for help.

Sam doesn't know where Charlie is—where she is, if she's alive, if she's okay. He doesn't know anything at all, except that he wants to go back home already.

**~o~**

Dean's first date with Cas is in his kitchen back at the burger shop. Well, technically it should have been that breakfast date yesterday or whatever, but screw it, this is their first.

Benny and Garth wrapped up and left early, Benny even giving Dean a wink as Dean had shut the joint down for the public. He had spent the rest of the time tidying up the place to make it good enough for Cas, even though between the smell of meat and oil and cheese, he's hoping Cas won't ultimately be nauseated after everything.

He doesn't know why he's so nervous. Sure, he likes Cas and it's not like he's not gone this far ahead with anyone in his life before, but it's just a dumb date, and he hates that he is all bothered about it. He hates that he makes sure Cas's burger is extra delicious and that the fries are the best he's ever made. Hates that he's been to the bathroom thrice already to check his hair and make sure there wasn't anything weird about his face.

And ugh, if he could somehow get that meat stink off of him…

Cas arrives exactly at seven, and Dean's already burned through three cigarettes by then and is working on correcting his breath. He's been peeking out of the little gap in the blinds and pacing about and the one time he sat, he couldn't keep his legs still. He almost swallowed that stupid minty fresh gum, too. So thank fuck that Cas arrives, because when Dean opens the door for him he quickly leans in to kiss Cas on the mouth to avoid saying something stupid.

Cas returns the kiss; it's short-lasting, but still amazing. When they break apart, Dean's heart finally slows. Before he knows it, he's reaching for Cas's hand. "Hey, Cas. Come on in."

They get to the kitchen and the damn meat stink hits them, at which point Dean mentally smacks himself for not having set up a table at the front itself. It hasn't struck him, had never struck him because all he can think of is wanting Cas to be inside his kitchen. Unfortunately that's the least romantic place ever and Dean is just now starting to process that.

_Great sense of aesthetic you got there, Winchester._

It's done now, though, and Dean can't get himself to set up another table at the front, so he lets Cas take a chair at his and Benny's eating spot. He's tried to set it up as nicely as he can, tablecloth and all, but no flowers because he's not Sam. He realises now that maybe he should have really taken a page out of Sam's book for this one, because, well, flowers  _are_  kinda pretty.

Shit.

Okay, he needs to make his move before Cas realises just how shitty this is.

He clears his throat and watches his date's eyes follow him when he goes to retrieve the burgers. "So how was yesterday?" he asks Cas, setting the plates down carefully, making sure not to disturb the fries. He keeps the ketchup and mustard between them and settles himself opposite Cas.

"Pretty routine," Cas signs back, "just some medical check-ups I need to get every six months."

"For your, uh…?" Dean points at the general area of his throat.

Cas nods in reply.

"So you could talk, right? Before?" Dean cringes even as he asks the question, realising it was a dumb thing to do. Asking people personal questions about their health and disabilities has to be right there in the list of Top Five Shitty Things To Do On Your First Date.

Cas doesn't seem to mind, though. He nods. "Until two years ago," he signs. "I had a viral infection."

Dean feels his eyebrows arching. "A viral infection? Damn, I'm sorry, man. That sounds awful."

"I'm luckier than most people," replies Cas, while his eyes rove away to look at a point behind Dean. There is something odd about the expression on his face that Dean can't put a finger on. "And I can still talk. Only, my voice doesn't work."

"Can you?" Dean cringes at his question again, and decides he might as well get out the back door and run while he can.

Cas smiles a little and replies in a hoarse whisper. "Yes," he says, "but my voice is like this and it is difficult to comprehend what I'm saying."

Dean grins back. "Well. Your voice muscles might not be okay but you know I like your signing muscles, right?" He is about to clap himself on his back for that awesome line, but Cas just tilts his head.

"I'm sorry?" he signs. "I did not understand you."

"I… uh, never mind." Dean sighs. "We should eat before the food gets too cold. Beer or whiskey or something else?"

"You can decide," Cas replies, "as long as, in case of drinking alcohol, we both have a taxi pick us up later—and I am also not very fond of having sex while intoxicated."

It's barely a surprise to Dean that they're both clear on the fact that they're fucking tonight, even though it remained unspoken for the most part. "Of course, man," he says, "we'll only have a little bit so we're not drunk. I'll still call a cab. And whiskey it is!"

He wonders if that sounded way too cheery, but decides to not think about it. He brings out the bottle and sits before Cas, putting the glasses down and eyeing the burgers between them. This is so dumb, so dumb, so dumb, but Cas is kinda hot. And Dean hopes this date can go well so they can have more of these in the future.

He groans inwardly when he realises he's been staring at Cas this whole time. Turning to finger at the checkered table cloth, he wonders what's wrong with him. He's never been like this about any dude… or girl. Cas is. Cas is just… special.

Special?  _Crap_.

_Shoot me, Sammy, I'm turning into you._

**~o~**

"Congratulations! Your son is officially in remission." Mary lets herself smile a little as she passes the PET scans to her patient, leaning into the table with the thick films  _flub-flubbing_  when they're moved across its surface. This is the last patient she is seeing this evening and all she wants to do right now is get home quick and have a good soak in the bathtub.

Meanwhile across her, Senator Crowley seems like he was looking for some relief too, from the way he smiles back at her. He accepts the scans and takes a gander at them. "I was hoping to receive this exact piece of news this evening, Dr Winchester," he says. "You've made me a very happy man."

He turns to his son, Gavin, a young boy who is thin and lank and adorned in a beanie and a too-big sweatshirt. For the first time in months Gavin doesn't look desperately sick, a change Mary just loves to see in her patients. She feels her heart lift a little. She's going to meet Ellen and Jo tomorrow, first thing in the morning, and she's already dreading breaking the news to them. Jo is like a daughter to her. She wants them referred to another doctor once she takes care of Jo's first chemo cycle, since she's not sure it would be ethical for her to actually take up this case, even though they've consented to have Mary look at Jo's reports. And as much as Mary supports being ethical, she also wishes she could handle the entirety of Jo's treatment and make sure everything goes well.

If she could have any control over preventing Ellen's grief… for making sure Jo is given only the best. She didn't have that for Sam. She couldn't save him, couldn't help him, be with him when he was in pain from that accident and he was… he…

"Pardon me," Crowley says, interrupting her in her thoughts, "but you seem troubled, Doctor. Is everything fine with Gavin?"

A nurse rolls a cart by the corridor and PA announces a colleague's name and Mary lets herself listen to the white noise as she nods and clears her throat. "Yes. Of course. It's… he's in remission. He still needs rest to recuperate from the chemo, but he's going to be absolutely fine."

Gavin and his father had come to Mary a year ago when Gavin's test reports were positive for Hodgkin's Lymphoma. A year ago… when everything had been right and good in Mary's life.

"Well, then," Crowley stands up, and helps his son up with him. "We will not take any more of your time."

Mary points at Gavin's file. "All advice for his care is written in there. You can always reach me if you need anything else. The follow-up dates are included, too, and I would advise you to keep up with all of those appointments."

Crowley looks her in the eye as he straightens his black tie. "Yes, of course, Doctor. And you can do the same when it comes to me. Anything. Any favour at all…" He puts a card on her table—his business card. "I owe my son's life to you."

Mary takes the card. "Thank you, Senator."

Crowley bows his head slightly before leaving with his son. Mary watches him go and shoves his card into her drawer, sure she'll never need it. Then she waits at her seat, heart and mind racing, thinking once again of Ellen and Jo. It isn't until she gets into her bathtub at home that she realises that she's never going to be prepared for this.

**~o~**

Dinner goes by without any more embarrassing shit on Dean's side and ends with both of them having drunk just enough whiskey to remain sober, but the static in the air is unbelievable by the time they're all done. Dean brings out the ice cream and scoops some into a bowl. "How much would you like?" he asks Cas. "It's…" He squints at the label. "Choco-almond."

His date refuses with a tiny shake of his head and Dean can feel the friction of desperation—the need to get out of here. But a part of him is nervous, because one-night stands he's done, but this is a date, and…

Cas's fingers drum against the table, almost restless, and Dean picks up the spoon, tonguing some ice cream out of it. "I guess it's just me, then, I— _mmph_ …"

Cas is standing up and leaning over, his lips against Dean's sudden and unexpected and passionate, and Dean lets the spoon clatter to the table, spraying melted ice cream everywhere, his chair falling back as he gets to his feet. Cas takes the opportunity to grab him by the shoulders, slamming him against the wall, and Dean moans, letting Cas's tongue enter his mouth, feeling him brush against the borders.

Dean grabs on to Cas's t-shirt, pulls it over his head, and takes it off and Cas slams him back, grinding against him, leaving Dean panting. He lets Cas suck on his lip, breath coming out in gasps, and then feels him move on to his jaw, sharp nips followed by soft sucking, warm and wet and tantalising Dean on every level.

"Damn," Dean whispers as Cas's hands feel under his t-shirt, tracing a line, then down to his pants, unbuckling his belt, but Dean opens his eyes at that moment, only to clutch at Cas's wrist. "C-Cas," he pants, and Cas apparently takes that as a cue to continue, because Dean has to move away to get him to stop.

Cas jumps back. "Sorry," he signs, mouth partially open, skin sweaty, and eyes wide. "I—"

"Dude, chill," says Dean, stopping him before he can apologise. "I don't have a problem doing…" He waves a hand around. "It's a kitchen," he says. "Hygiene."

Cas doesn't even argue. He collects himself, nods, walks straight to the dishes on the table, and picks them up.

"What are you—" Dean begins, but Cas puts them in the sink and Dean realises what he's doing. "Oh," he says, "I'll get them." Cas moves away and fuck knows how and why but Dean is shaky all over, legs weak as he runs water over the plates. He hasn't even been doing it for two minutes when Cas presses against him from the back, chin on the curve between Dean's neck and shoulder, semi-hard dick against Dean's butt.

Dean almost drops his plate when Cas's breath hits his neck. He shuts his eyes, trying to not break the plate, but Cas lets out a scoff and grinds against him.

Dean's breath stutters and Cas continues, a hand coming to cup Dean, tracing up the crotch of his pants so Dean's getting hard, too. He barely finishes two plates and gets to the glasses. "W-We can't d-do this eith…either," he manages to gasp, and Cas runs his hands over Dean once before stepping back, but his job is already done. Dean finishes washing everything else at record speed and they're both out of the restaurant, hand-in-hand and hailing a cab before they know it.

It's hard for Dean to keep his hands off Cas or to not yell at the driver to go faster, but he keeps his cool. He takes a shuddering breath, leaning over to whisper in Cas's ear. "Red," he says. "My safe word." Cas nods and slaps the seat twice with his palm, and Dean understands. "That's yours?"

"Yes," Cas signs.

"And—uh…" Dean's brain is hardly working but he forces it to think. "With me, B and D are okay—spatulas, paddles, leather, hands, cock rings, the likes are good, but no kicking, punching, or spitting," he says, and glances at the rear view mirror, hoping the cab driver isn't weirded out. "S and M not so much—you gotta talk about it first, I might be all right with some things. No knives and electricity, though."

"I don't discipline," Cas signs back, and Dean nods. Okay, that doesn't bother him. "I like to switch between dominating and being submissive, but I'm usually dominant," Cas continues.

"All right, I can sub and switch to dom sometimes." Dean takes a deep breath. Dammit, where the fuck is Cas's home? He's glad they're discussing this now instead of doing it in the bedroom, but then again he's not sure he could get any more turned on right now.

Cas's hand on his thigh startles him but the next moment there are goosebumps everywhere. "Cas," he grits out, but there Cas is, leaning over to whisper into Dean's ear as they pull into a lane of apartment complexes.

"My first rule," he says, and damn,  _there's_  that gravelly whisper, "is that you can't come unless I say so."

Dean's toes curl and he's sweating and barely hanging on by a thread. "Oh, yeah?" he growls. "What will you do if I don't obey?"

The smirk on Cas's face as they pull into his apartment complex alone has Dean disobeying and he can tell that this will be a night he won't forget.

They take the stairs, running up, gasping and panting and Cas keys the lock, both of them bursting into the open apartment before Cas shuts it to slam Dean against the door and kiss him. His home is dark but neither of them has any patience to turn on the lights. The kiss is brief, then Cas's hands peel away Dean's shirt as quickly as possible, pushing him inside and onto a bed. In the grey-white moonlight, Cas gestures for Dean to get further into the bed and Dean does, bracing himself as Cas looks in his drawer for something. He reemerges with paper streamers.

Dean eyes them, wonders if they can bind him for more than a minute, with the way Cas is. He guesses what they're about. "I'm… I'm not supposed to tear out of those, right?"

He has his answer when Cas shrugs and gets on the bed to crawl towards Dean.

Oh, fuck, this guy is going to make sure Dean gets punished more than once…

… Punishments Dean will happily accept.

Cas smirks again, and Dean knows he doesn't have permission yet—of course, but he braces himself. He lets himself be tied, watches Cas undress and lie over him, warm, comforting, and sexy, his eyes sparkling a blue-grey in the dimness, his jaw and face all light and shadows with sharp contrast. Cas kisses him again, gently, on his lips and the corner of them, his ear, sucking on his lobe, the feel of his lips bringing Dean alive. And for a moment there, Cas just holds Dean's face, a thumb rubbing against his skin. He sits back for a moment.

"Do you trust me?" he signs.

Dean wouldn't ever trust someone he's just been on one date with but Cas has proven more than once today alone that he is caring, both about consent, and not hurting Dean, so Dean disregards his own rules—just this once. He smiles. "Of course, Cas. What do you have in mind?"

Cas reaches to his side and pulls out a black bandana. A blindfold. Dean grins. "Oh, fuck, yes."

Dean's consent being loud and clear, Cas leans over to blindfold Dean, his hands on Dean always, assuring he's here, he's not leaving, and fuck, fuck this guy—because he is fucking near Dean again, whispering into his ear. "You still can't come until I say so or break loose until we finish. And you will be punished for the first time."

"Can't – can't wait," Dean says, gasping when Cas sucks at his earlobe.

Cas goes on from there and Dean lets him, every part of him attuned and excited to whatever Cas is doing, goosebumps rising at the touch of his fingers, his kisses, each brush a surprise but equally arousing. Cas explores places Dean's not sure existed in him before, his tongue expertly licking and leaving wet traces… nips against Dean's hip bones… then lower below, all the way down, feeling Cas take him in his mouth.

He gasps, fists the bedsheets, trying not to move his wrists and break the bonds. Cas's tongue is precise but ruthless, brushing relentlessly and Dean arches against the bed, bucks up, hard to the point of cracking, but he knows he can't—fuck, he can't come and he can't tear off his bonds and Cas hasn't yet allowed him but he is hard to the point to bursting.

"Cas," he whispers, giving in, "please."

Cas doesn't listen, pushes Dean further, winds him up, breath and tongue and saliva and Dean can feel sweat build up everywhere.

 _"_ _Oh!"_

He bucks against Cas again, and he's been pushed to his limit, gasping, panting, moaning. "Cas," he begs, toes curling in, and Cas encourages him, letting it build, letting it escalate, until Dean can't anymore, muscles taut, neck stretching, shaking and trembling, but then Cas pauses.

"You need help?" he asks, voice grating like sandpaper and glass in the silence around them.

"Yes – yes," Dean gasps, "pl-please, I'm coming—help me."

Cas squeezes his fingers, and the next moment, Dean feels the cock ring slide up him, eliciting another gasp.

"Fuck," he whispers, voice barely coming out between breaths, "fuck, Cas…"

He hears a condom being opened up, feels the bed dip near him and a pair of arms lift his legs, pull him up by his hips so his calves are resting on Cas's shoulders. He moves to wrap his legs around Cas and waits. Waits for Cas's fingers to come down to Dean's ass. He feels the slickness of lube along with the fingers, warm and wet as Cas scissors, then pulls Dean closer, taking care not to disturb the delicate bonds.

They stay like that for a moment, breathless, sweaty, and wrapped around each other, hearts in sync. Without warning, Cas grips Dean's ass and the moment it happens, Dean's jaw drops.

"Ah… oh, oh!" Cas rocks against him with Dean already so fucking hard, and it's nothing like Dean's ever had, even with Cas, with Cas thrusting, the flesh of Dean's quivering calves against Cas, warm and messy everywhere, Cas growing more and more tense until suddenly and unexpectedly Dean's cock ring is off and he's coming with a cry, several cries, fingernails digging into the mattress because he can't—he can't anymore. But it's the best he's ever felt, and  _oh God_  he wishes he could live in this forever and forever and forget everything else.

Cas unties Dean, despite it being paper, and they lie there, Cas spooning Dean and holding him tight in sweet after-care, but they have nothing else to exchange between them, no words or gestures—because, what do you call this? Once Dean can breathe again he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and leans over at the sink, trying to soothe the heat in his face with water, He splashes himself a few times, pausing to look at his wet face in the mirror as he wipes the droplets stuck to his eyelashes. The water hasn't reduced much of the flush in his cheeks, and that just makes Dean go back and wash his face again.

He clutches on to porcelain and stays that way because he thinks Cas managed to get him all dizzy, and fuck him, but—

 _"_ _Mew."_

Dean startles and looks up. To his side on the closed lid of the toilet is… well, it's a  _really small_  cat. And when Dean says really small, he means it. He never knew they could be this small. But then again he's never met many cats before.

Face still dripping, Dean shuts the faucet off and faces the kitten. It returns his stare, narrowing its eyes, and he swears that cats can be fucking creepy sometimes. "Uh… Cas?" He keeps an eye on the tiny creature. He's not sure he's ever even seen a kitten this small… but Jesus, he could probably fit it in two palms.

"Cas?!" Dean repeats. Does Cas know that there's a small cat in his apartment? How did this thing even get in here?

There are footsteps behind Dean and Cas appears at the doorway, just as red as Dean, and very naked. His eyes are questioning and Dean has to gesture to the little critter on the toilet to grab Cas's attention. "Dude, you've got a cat!"

Cas tilts his head, but seems unperturbed as he moves forward to lift the kitten. That's when Dean notices a small nametag on a very ruined collar. It reads  _Ginger_.

Dean blinks at the glimmer of steel from the collar, lets his jaw drop as he faces Cas yet again. "You have a  _kitten_?"

Cas holds up two fingers and as if the other kitten sensed that, Dean hears a muffled mew and another fuzzball climbs out of the pile of underwear in Cas's laundry hamper. Dean refuses to go forward and pick it up while still naked and unable to defend himself from scratches, so Cas picks that one up, too. The nametag on this one says  _Charcoal_ , and the mews start as soon as Cas places that one on his shoulder.

Dean is all too bewildered by this and in that ultra-brightly lit bathroom there's just a moment with two naked dudes and two kittens, a scenario he never imagined being a part of. Cas places Ginger on his other shoulder, a soft smile appearing on his face. "They're my girls," he signs, looking equal parts proud and happy. "Rescues."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Wow! That's cool, man. I didn't know you were a cat person."

Cas lets out a whispered laugh at that and signs, "You will be, too, just give them some time."

Dean sincerely doubts that, but he doesn't counter it, just watches Cas walk away, one amazing butt and two accusatory kitty eyes in his line of sight, until he somehow feels utterly ashamed of himself and goes back into Cas's bedroom to pull on a pair of boxers.

**~o~**

The knock on Mary's door at her office the next day gives her goosebumps but she manages to speak up anyway. "Come in."

She's nursing a headache from not being able to sleep. She lay awake all night, kicking and rolling about, but she needs to do this and she's not sure how. It doesn't help when Ellen pokes her face in, smiling, but  _really_  all pale and nervous, before entering with Jo trailing behind her.

"Ellen!" Mary gets up to give her friend a hug, which Ellen returns, and Jo seems to slouch behind her mother, thin and frail and with dark circles under her eyes—and Mary can't help but think,  _sick_. Jo lets Mary hug her too, though she doesn't smile. Mary doesn't blame her. She doesn't think she'd be smiling if she had cancer either.

"So," Ellen says. "We got a little worried when you called. Dr Irwin said there's probably nothing to worry about before he headed out."

"Yeah, he's on vacation for three weeks now. And with Jo—" Mary purses her lips, bracing herself, "I wouldn't take her case up, usually, but—"

"But it's obviously an emergency, so what is it?" Jo asks, cutting Mary short. "Am I dying?"

"Joanna Beth—!"

"No," Mary says, "no, I should get to the point and you're not dying, Jo." She pauses, wondering how to break it to them. "You do, however… uh, you have… it's called Hodgkin's Lymphoma. It's – it's really common in your age group and… treatable. Only, we need to start as soon as we can to prevent progress, which is why I did not want to wait."

There is silence. Mary doesn't even look at Ellen—just at Jo, who has an eyebrow raised, but apart from that, she doesn't seem to show any emotion. A minute later, she pushes her chair back, its rubber-capped legs making a muffled hiss as they scuff across linoleum, and she's standing up.

"Guess I  _am_  dying, then," she says, and before Ellen or Mary can speak, she's out of the room.

Mary watches Jo go, watches the frosted-glass door shut behind her and her hand trail against it briefly and she doesn't… what can she  _possibly_  say? When she's facing Ellen again, her friend isn't crying, but it's worse—she's pale, mouth slightly open, and Mary can barely get her voice out. Ellen manages to cover up for the silence.

"Lymphoma," she whispers, the term rolling off her tongue like she's testing it, like she hopes it's not real. "What is that a cancer of, exactly?"

"Lymphocytes," says Mary. "They're a kind of white blood cells. The prognosis is actually very good." She swallows, throat very dry. "Remission and survival rate is high, even though chemo is intense but like I said, we shouldn't wait until Jo's doctor returns to begin treatment." She reaches for her drawer, hands trembling, and pulls out a printed handout.

"We – we have traditional chemo, which we call the  _ABVD regimen_ ," Mary says, "and there is a new singular drug that's recently been released into the market, called  _Lymphostat_. I don't endorse it, but you can take a look at this." Mary slides the handout across the table. "This has some preliminary information both about the cancer and the treatment we can offer here, and if you could take some time to understand it and meet me again tomorrow, I can talk about what both the regimens will include, and all the side-effects and the number of cycles that we will administer."

"Okay," Ellen whispers, reaching forward to take it. "I'll have her see it." She stands up, too, and heads to the door, but Mary calls out to her.

"Ellen? I know I can't make promises, but she'll be okay."

Ellen turns back, smiles through her tears. "We'll see about that now, won't we?"

When the door closes shut behind Ellen, Mary leans against the back of her chair, feeling like she has lost yet another child.


	4. Madhyamam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two songs from the playlist that I reference here:
> 
> #12: Kannodu Kanbathellam  
> #13: Kahin Toh Hogi Woh (slow dance song)

It's just been two weeks since they met, but Dean's time with Cas feels like an eternity. Cas's company leaves him happy. Happy and reeling and like he can do so many things at once. Like he can do  _anything_ , in fact. Dean doesn't know what it means or why he feels like this, but it is good, hell, it's  _great_ , and for the first time in months, it doesn't feel like he's numb or angry or just plain sad.

Of course, none of that goes away—none of what Sammy meant to him, or how much Dean fucking misses his brother, but it's like being with Cas helps Dean discover the good things again. Like there is finally room for some happiness.

When the pain gets to be too much, when Cas is not there, Dean goes to his other ways of coping. He needs them, he needs his whiskey and his cigarettes and his knife, but there is not much he can hide from Cas. Cas, who still doesn't know Dean's story, doesn't know everything, but it feels like he does, it feels like Dean is naked to him in more ways than one. Whenever Cas's lips touch the cuts, Dean can feel the gentleness all over, like Cas is trying to soothe other wounds, and not just the ones he sees. It's just marvellous, and Dean has no name for all of it. He doesn't think he'll even figure that part out, either.

Dean met his mother for dinner two weeks ago at Sam's favourite restaurant and it had been awkward because of earlier that week, but also soothing. They spoke about Sam, and Dean felt like it was cathartic, purifying, to be able to relive all the memories. Afterwards, spooning with Cas had been great, too, especially since Cas had decided to  _reward_  Dean for something from the previous day with a fantastic blow job. However, Dean couldn't shake off how Mary had acted a little odd that day and he is not sure how to mull that over and he wishes he could talk to Cas. He wants to—wants to tell him everything, this being the longest  _thing_  Dean has had and all…

A hand is on his thigh. Dean blinks, snaps out of his reverie, and Cas grins at him. He has his violin on his lap and one of the vocalists from his group, Sona, is sitting on the floor, her eyes shut and her face tilted upwards like she's concentrating on something. Cas is looking at her, too, and when she opens her eyes, she nods. "Shall we start?"

Cas nods, just as Charkie comes dashing in from the bedroom. Dean had nicknamed them  _Gingie_  and  _Charkie_  on the second day of meeting them, and he thinks Cas is right and he might be turning into a crazy cat dude.

Meanwhile, Charkie is about to leap on Cas but Dean goes forward and takes her. "You come here, sweetheart," he tells her, and she mews in protest but relaxes when he sets her on his lap. "Where's Gingie?" he asks her, and sure enough, the moment he says it, Ginger is running out, again towards Cas, but then she's chill when Dean lifts her. She purrs and grooms Charkie and from the other side, Sona chuckles. "I think we should really start now."

Cas nods and places his jaw on the violin as he starts playing, and Sona raises her hand to stop him, humming along with the pitch.

 _"_ _Sa… Pa…"_

Cas plays along, violin holding the bow so that the music resonates, and Sona sets her tone, before turning to Dean. "The  _Shadja_  and the  _Panchama_ ," she says.

Dean isn't sure he heard her right. "I'm sorry?"

"Carnatic music," she replies, "and in fact, all Indian music relies on  _Raagas_ , a combination of changing solfeggio, rather than Western-style notes. The  _Shadja_  is analogous to  _Do_  and the  _Panchama_  is analogous to  _So_  and we use that to adjust the pitch."

"So…  _Do Re Mi Fa_ …"

"About the same tone," Sona replies, "except we sing  _Sa Ri Ga Ma Pa Da Ni Sa_."

" _Let's start at the very beginning_ ," Dean sings, remember the days from his childhood, some of the evenings spend watching and rewatching  _The Sound of Music_  with his family, and Sona continues, the song, a smile appearing on her face.

 _"_ _A very good place to start!"_

Dean is about to sing again when Cas pulls a screeching note on his violin and Sona cringes, looking at him, pushing dark hair behind her ears. "Sorry, Cas." Charkie meows from Dean's lap, as if agreeing, and Dean looks down, running a finger on her velvety forehead, so she shuts her eyes in comfort.

"Well, go on," he says. "We'll shut up this time, Cas."

Cas looks pointedly at Sona, starting to play on his violin as she promptly starts, singing Indian solfeggio first.

 _"_ _Pa Pa Ma Pa Ni Pa Ma Pa Ni Pa Ma Ga Ma Pa…"_

Dean sits there, listening and listening. He has no idea what it means, but it makes him  _feel_. Just like the music Cas is always making him listen to, except instead of being beautiful and sad and loving, this one is fun and upbeat. Sona seems to enjoy herself, too, tapping her palm against her thigh as she sings.

_"Salasalasalasala rettai kilavi_

_Thakuthakuthaku rettai kilavi_

_Undallo, tamizhil undallo."_

It's like a world of sounds and unknown words, Cas's strings moving on the command of his fingers and hands, creating harmony and marvel, and Sona's voice, all blending together like a million worlds.

 _"_ _Ma Ma Ga Ga Ma Ma Sa Sa_

_Ga Ga Sa Sa Ga Ga Ni Ni_

_Sa Ga Ga Sa Ma Ma_

_Sa Ga Ga Sa Pa Pa_

_Sa Ga Ga Sa Ni Ni_

_Sa Ga Ga Sa Saaa Ni Da Pa Ma Ga."_

Cas plays his violin in the same pace as Sona's singing and Dean isn't sure he's ever seen anything like this before. Fuck… the pure talent in that guy… God, this is fucking incredible.

By the time Sona and Cas have finished the song with relish, Dean's heart is racing and his mouth is dry and he is kinda horny for Cas, apart from not knowing what to say. Gingie and Charkie are snoozing away but he's just looking at Cas, Cas, all eyelashes and strong jaw and ridged mouth and eyes and hair and…

Fuck. He thinks he might be in love.

With Cas.

Fuck.

_Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck._

Dean opens his mouth, shuts it, and then finally finds his voice, only to sound stupid yet again. "Fuck!"

Sona raises an eyebrow and Cas smirks, both of them looking at each other before bursting into laughter. Dean watches them laugh, watches Cas pack his violin, and Sona is clutching at her belly and he still doesn't know what's funny, and can't understand what here could be an inside joke in any way. Sona does, however, stop laughing for a moment, just for a moment to speak.

"We were hoping for that, Dean, thanks."

"Well," Dean replies, "that was some awesome stuff you sang."

"And I hope we can do it just as well at our stage performance, to be honest."

"Are you  _kidding_  me?" Dean asks her. "People are going to love you guys!"

"And," Sona says, a huge grin appearing on her face, "with that reassurance, Cas, I think I'll take my leave. See you at the studio tomorrow?"

Cas nods a yes and she picks up her bag, her face still lit with happiness at Dean's praise. "I'll leave you two to it, then," she says, winking. "I wouldn't want to interrupt anything here." With a small salute she exits Cas's home, shutting the door behind her and leaving silence in her wake.

Once she's left, Cas gets up off the floor and takes the kittens from Dean's lap to cuddle with them. They both mew together, Gingie's raspy little Cas-voice sounding adorable as they let Cas kiss them. He puts them on his shoulders and looks at Dean. "Coffee?" he signs.

"Would kill for some," Dean tells him, following him as he goes to get the coffee mug out. He watches Cas work; pour the coffee out from the pot and he's just standing there, witnessing all of that, thinking of music and Cas's violin and the intimacy of watching Cas play the thing, of letting Cas into his kitchen, when it all comes out of him.

"Cas?"

Cas nods, gesturing for Dean to continue speaking.

"I… uh. I've never told you much about me, have I?"

Cas seems to freeze for a moment but then he's turning around and setting the mugs down. "You don't need to tell me," he signs. "Your body tells me your story."

"That, uh…" Dean absentmindedly touches the scars on his arm. "Yeah. But I've never told you…" He presses his lips together. "It doesn't freak you out?"

"You need help," Cas agrees. "But I have known you for two weeks and I don't want to impose on you. I just want to convey…" He drops his hands and looks, just looks at Dean for a moment. "I am always here for you," he whispers.

It's like a gust of warm wind on a cold winter morning. Like the rustling orange leaves during fall. Dean just stares at him, mouth opening and shutting once, twice, and he has to turn away as his eyes sting. "Thank you," he signs to Cas, and pretends to clear his eyes of dust. Cas waits, then takes Dean's hand in his.

Dean bites his lip, eyes still stinging, looking at his coffee mug. "I… I have… had a little brother. Sam. I lost him last year in November. And… things haven't been too good ever since, you know? I mean this stuff…" He shakes back his sleeve and glances at his scars. "This stuff was there before… maybe less than they are right now, and older, but I don't know… even though it was so hard, it seemed easier. Because I had Sam. He was my brother and I always… I guess we just grew up close… we were really lucky, I guess, luckier than a lot of siblings who don't even care about each other and shit like that. I could kinda always count on him."

Cas squeezes Dean's hand and lets go for a moment to sign, "You were best friends."

Dean doesn't know what to even fucking say to that. He is just really glad when Cas comes to hold his hand again because for a moment there, it had all just felt like he was hurtling through space and…

He clears his throat and smiles through his tears. "Nah. Sammy was… Sammy's just a bitch."

They sit there in silence for a while, sipping at their coffees. Gingie demands Cas's coffee but he kisses her and lets her and Charkie have some of their kibble. They eat quicker than Dean's ever seen them eat (he swears they eat quicker and quicker each time), and then they're off to play, grappling with each other and aggressively grooming each other's ears.

Dean turns to Cas, whose kind eyes are already focussed on him. He raises a hand and cups Dean's cheek, then takes it away to grab his phone. He scrolls through it for just a moment and puts down, the first chords of another song playing, with a piano, this time. Dean just sits there, listening to the song and meeting eyes with Cas. The slow, soothing music, words, once again, in a language he doesn't understand, but the emotions right there, and he knows he feels all that for Cas.

_Kahin toh kahin toh hogi woh_

_Duniya jahan tu mere saath hai_

Cas stands up and gives his hand to Dean, who takes it and feels Cas pull him closer, until they have their arms wrapped around each other, until they are rocking to the music, Dean's head buried in Cas's shoulder, and nothing has to be said because they understand it all.

_Hogi jahan subah teri_

_Palkon ki kirnon mein_

_Lori jahan chaand ki_

_Sune teri baahon mein_

It continues, it continues into the silence, until Dean feels his heart lighten and Cas's shirt is wet but then Cas splits away gently, cupping Dean's face, pulling him forward to kiss his cheek, then his lips, dissolving both of them in the sea of emotions, indescribable, and yet Dean knows it all.  _Love love love love love_.

_Kehti hai fiza jahan_

_Meri zameen aasmaan_

_Jahan hai tu_

_Meri hasin, meri khushi, meri jaan_

Their bodies move, still slowly, to the invigorating music and the beats. Cas is mouthing the words along, mouthing them against the skin of Dean's ear, raising goosebumps, and Dean just lets him—hands himself, mind and body, to Cas, until Cas holds him, sits with him on the couch, listening to birds, kittens, silence, and life.

After a few moments Cas breaks apart and Dean turns to look at him, his heart feeling a little lighter than before. Cas blinks at him, seems to consider something as he lifts his hands, hesitates, then signs. "Can I see Sam's picture?"

"Oh." Dean fishes for his phone. "Of course. It's right… huh, it's here." He finds a picture, one of Sammy's most recent in his stupid sweater vest and nerd clothes and college professor bag, feeling like some foolish proud parent as he shows it to Cas, but funnily enough, Cas doesn't react.

Dean swallows. He gets this a lot. For Sam being handsome, and whatnot, dying so young (if Sam were here, he'd just call Sam an ugly bitch), so Cas's reaction makes sense to him. "I know, right?" he says, shrugging. "I always told him he wore his hair like a hippie— _Cas_?"

Cas's jaw is dropping, eyes wide, and all colour drains from his skin when he looks up at Dean. "Dean," he whispers, and Dean raises an eyebrow, now freaked out.

"What's the matter?"

"I've… I've seen him at…" Cas's breath stutters. "Dean, Sam is alive."

Dean just stares at him, blinking. "Sam is alive," he repeats. And he wants to laugh because it's not a fucking joke and screw Cas for doing this. Cas and his stupid prank and his joke, like he can just say something like that, can just throw that on Dean—

A pair of strong hands grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him. He lets himself be shaken, tears falling from his eyes and Cas is looking at him, serious and afraid and not at all joking. "Your brother is alive," he signs, lips quivering. "We need to save him, he's in danger. We need to get him back right now."

That snaps Dean right out of his mind. No, no, Cas would never prank him like this. No—holy shit,  _is Sam really alive?!_

Dean blinks, cheeks wet, and clenches his jaw. "What is happening, Cas? And how do you know this?"

Cas's eyes are wide, he's panting, and he takes a step back. "I can't," he says. "I can't tell you. I can't, I can't—" Then he's rushing to his room and Dean does the only thing that he can. He follows Cas, determined to get answers.

 

**~o~**

"What the shit, Cas, where did you see him? What are you—" Dean is following Cas around, his thoughts in a whirl and a tizzy as Cas searches through his cupboard. A minute later, he takes out a duffel and is about to empty his drawers when Dean's finally had enough.

The tears were gone as soon as Cas had moved away and Dean's doing all he can to keep his emotions in check as he lets rationality take over. Because none of this makes any sense. If there was a competition for who had the most boring, apple pie life ever, Sam would win the gold medal and it doesn't make sense because he died… accident… that car crash and the body.

How could there be a scandal in  _Sammy's_  life, of all people? That's so stupid, it would be hilarious if things weren't so fucking screwed up right now. And Cas.  _Cas?_

Cas continues to pack a bag and Dean feels other emotions attack him.

"Oh, no, you bastard." He strides forward, catches Cas's hand, and makes him turn around so that they're standing face-to-face in the middle of Cas's room with a pile of his clothes surrounding them. Dean takes a deep breath as he swallows in anger and confusion. "What's going on here, man? Where are you trying to run?"

"Wichita," Cas whispers, then frees his hands to sign. "Your brother is there. We have to save him. I'm not running, Dean, we need to get there right now. You should bring your things, too."

"You're sure Sam's alive? And save him from  _what_?!"

"I don't know and I cannot explain, but he is in danger. We have to go, we don't have time!" Cas is getting more and more frantic and Dean's own heart is in his throat, but he takes a few more breaths. From past experience he knows that getting riled up has never done him any good.

"Okay," he says.  _Take control_ , Sam's voice adds, calmly, in Dean's head and he's trying, fuck, but what is happening here?

_Dean. Deep breaths. Rational steps. What do you need to do first?_

_Okay, Sammy,_  he thinks, and he waits there, fists opening and closing as he tries to put things together. Whatever Cas is talking about, he's pretty sure it can't be handled like this, by running to fucking Wichita. Because, fuck, if this is all true, who the fuck are these people, that they erased Sam off the map so easy? And if Sam's alive, whose body did Dean see in the morgue, and why does nobody fucking miss  _them_?

"Okay, okay, you gotta tell me about this, man. I need to tell Mom. We can't just go about doing this shit, you know that, right? If he's in danger—and trust me, I'm the kind of guy who is always first in line to go pounce on bastards like this—we have to wait, dude. We need the cops. These people, if they know we know, they'll probably kill him, you know that, right?"

"Dean," Cas rasps, and goes on to sign. "The people who made me mute are the ones who have Sam. We don't have time. We really, really don't have time."

Dean just stands there, eyes wide while Cas packs his bag, and when he can finally find his voice, he takes his phone out to call Mary.

She picks up on the first ring.  _"Dean,"_  she sounds harried, busy.  _"What happened?"_

"Mom, I need you to come over to my place."

_"Sure, I'll come first thing in the morning. Listen, I have some patients—"_

"No.  _Now_."

That gets her to stop and Dean can almost see her stop on her path to wherever, just to listen to him.  _"Dean, what's the matter?"_

"Mom…" Dean's voice shakes and he has to swallow. "Sammy is alive. Cas says he's in danger and if he's right… we." He pauses, calms himself. "Someone's got him and they might be hurting Sammy. We have to find him and save him."

**~o~**

"So you're saying they experimented on you?" Mary is in Dean's living room, asking Cas questions and pacing around as Dean sits with Cas on the couch. He'd managed to drag Cas here without either of them having a breakdown or a panic attack, and he's really proud of himself for it.

"Cas was a part of a secret government project for bioweapon testing," Dean tells his mother. "They infected him with a virus and they didn't have a cure for it."

"So he's stuck with a paralysed vocal cord?!" Mary's eyes are wide, incredulous. "What the hell kind of—"

"Mom," Dean tells her. "That was before. They have Sam now."

"Why?"

"I don't know!"

"Is the government involved this time, too?"

Dean looks at Cas. "Cas isn't sure what's going on and why, but he thinks so. There is a senator around here who is responsible for this shit and he was there at Cas's time too. His name is…"

" _Crowley_." Mary grits her teeth. "I know that bastard."

"A-and a pharmaceutical company."

"Which one?"

"It's…" Dean looks at Cas. "What was it? Uh… Roman. Yeah. Roman Pharmaceuticals."

Mary blanches. "Roman?  _Fuck_."

"Mom?"

"Dean, they are… they just came up with a new drug and they had clinical trials for it not long ago… and I've been prescribing it."

"Okay, so you'll have to stop prescribing that shit. For now, first stop, Crowley, for the names of those poor bastards who're trapped in this. You said last week that a powerful client gave you his contact, right?"

"I – I can't confirm—"

"Mom," says Dean, "fuck these rules for a sec, Sammy and other people are dying, okay? Just tell me—or fuck it, we'll just go to Jody, why the fuck are we even wasting time here?" Dean's swearing and agitated and he doesn't know where to head first—to make a phone call or go to Jody, but his mother speaks up.

"Dean. Th-that client. That was Crowley."

"Good, so you treated Crowley's cancer and now we nail that asshole and make him get Sam out. Holy shit, who did they have to kill to make us think it was Sam—Mom, you with me?"

Mary is pale as she nods. "I… I just assigned a patient to Roman's new meds." She looks away from Dean and he can practically feel her trying to hide from him.

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, Mom, we know that. Now you'll stop. Unless there's something else you need to tell me?"

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself. "No. No, Dean."

He looks at her for a long moment. "You suck at lying."

She shakes her head again and clears her throat. "It's… it's confidential."

"Okay." Dean doesn't understand why it's bothering her (and now him) so much. He's never asked her about her patients and she's never said anything either. It's a given, out of respect for her oath. "You can still have them get out of it, right? And then there's the patient's right to decline a certain like of treatment or whatever?"

She nods. "Yeah." She swallows. "Yeah. N-never mind… I…" She trails away, sighing, as she rubs at her forehead. "Right, our top priority for now is Sam, but of course we work on getting everyone out."

"Yeah," says Dean. "So let's fucking hurry and call that—" He is interrupted when his phone rings. He picks it up, looks at Jo's face flashing on the screen and takes the call. "Hey, kiddo," he says, "listen, I'm gonna have to call you back; this is a bad time."

She sighs on the other side. " _Hey, Dean."_

"Hey," he replies. "Jo, like I said—"

 _"_ _Yeah, I get it. Just wanted to know if we could talk."_

"Urgent?"

She hesitates.  _"No… no, I, uh, have been a little under the weather and your mom knows, but I wanted to… I can't even grab coffee or get out and it kinda sucks."_  She scoffs, and Dean hates the sound of it, of the feeling that creeps up his body, setting off alarm bells everywhere. Shit.

"What is it?" he asks her.

She chuckles, sad and forced, and Dean's heart thumps in his chest. "Jo," he says, "what's going on?"

 _"_ _I thought you were smarter than that, Winchester,"_  she says, and her voice sounds weary, like she's spent a thousand years in pain. It freaks Dean out because he's never imagined her ever being like this.  _"You know,"_  she continues, " _I thought you'd put two and two together when I said your mom knows about it and that I was feeling too shitty to do anything at all, but…"_  Dean barely hears the rest of her words as his ears begin to ring. What the fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

He turns to his mother. "Mom?"

 _"_ _Dean,"_  Jo calls out to him from her side, her voice almost a whine.

"Jo, I'm sorry," he says, voice sounding rougher than he hoped, "I have to go and there's this really bad bullshit that's come up and I'll—"

 _"_ _I'll talk to you later,"_  she says.  _"Don't forget me in my dying days, asshole."_

"Hey." Dean's eyes sting and he has to bite his lip to stop the trembling. "You ain't going anywhere. Not on my watch."

 _"_ _It's actually your mom who's trying to keep me alive… but okay."_

Despite himself, Dean rolls his eyes. "Listen to my mom and do what she says. And I'm sorry but—"

 _"—_ _you've gotta go. I heard it the first time. See you around, Winchester."_

"Yeah, you, too."

She disconnects the call and Dean puts his phone down, staring at his mother's face, unable to deal with the blow. It feels like everything is crashing down, like he's falling apart, little-by-little. "Mom, is this… is this true?"

"S-She…" Mary swallows. "Dean, I couldn't tell you until she wanted to and…"

"What is it?" he demands. "How bad is it?"

Mary looks away. "She'll have to discuss that with you."

"And you…?"

"I gave Jo the option of signing up for Roman's drug."

It takes a whole moment for Dean to process that. He knows. He knows, he knows he should be happy Sammy is alive. He should be happy to have Cas. But it all feels the opposite. Because Jo might die and Sammy is not dead but he might be, too, and… oh God.  _Oh God._

The world spins, and Cas's arms hold him. "Dean!" Mary calls out, but Dean rights himself, swallows, and takes a deep breath.

"Right," he says. "I'm fine. Let's find Crowley and grill that bastard."

**~o~**

Dean can't believe he has to stop his badass, but ethical-as-fuck mother from punching a goddamned  _senator_  when Crowley walks into his home. Crowley, who is a short, limey dude and looking every bit like a politician from his face to his clothes.

"Let go of me, Dean!" Mary demands, still struggling in his arms, and Dean refuses.

"Mom," he says, eyeing Crowley, "don't punch him. He owes you. He said so on the phone and now he can't back out."

"I said that," Crowley agrees, "before I knew you were collecting  _classified_  government information."

"Classified, my ass!" Dean snarls. "My brother is dying, you bastard, along with God knows how many people!"

"Crowley," Mary says, sounding calmer, but Dean still holds her, glances at Cas from the corner of his eyes, watching him standing cross-armed at the window, partially silhouetted by the light outside. He's frowning but also shaky, and Dean hates that he had to get Cas to recount his trauma just for this.

"Dude," says Dean, "I'm holding my mom back here but don't make me punch you myself. Spill."

Crowley sighs. "If all of you would stop behaving like arses, I'll talk. But one punch and I am out of here, Winchester."

"Fine." Dean lets his mother go and she stands beside him, still fixing a death glare at Crowley. "We won't hit you. Now talk."

Crowley sighs, and Mary puts her hands on her hips. "Go on."

The senator shrugs. "Roman released a new drug into the market, but after a few months of it being around he called me. He told me about it, and that it could fight cancer better than the ones already on the market, but that he needed my help," he says.

"So you just listened to his crap without talking to anyone at all?"

"He played me," Crowley hisses. "My son had cancer, okay? I'm trying to do good here."

" _Really_ ," says Dean. "By testing bioweapons on poor people who need your help?"

"That wasn't my decision and this isn't a bloody bioweapon now, is it?"

"I don't care, you were in on it and whether you're fucking curing cancer or not, you got no right to hurt people, you asshole!"

Crowley grits his teeth. "What do you want me to do?"

"Turn Roman in."

"That's impossible. Our secrets will be out!"

"That the government is out there, giving people disabilities? Yeah, I think people should know!" Dean can feel it in him now. The hurt and rage and the need to wring this asshole's neck. He clenches his fist and Crowley's eyes fall on that, his eyes narrowing in ridicule.

"Doctor," Crowley turns to Mary, "tell your little puppy that I am not the only person in the government in this country."

Mary takes a deep breath. "Crowley, a lot of people are in danger here, so excuse me if my son is as angry about it as I am."

"What do you want me to do?" Crowley repeats. "Barking at me won't solve your problems."

"What is in that drug?" Mary asks him.

"Nothing. It's not that bad. He just needed people to fake the reports."

"So a chemotherapeutic drug, a medicine which kills cells in the body, was harmless enough that he needed to kidnap patients," Mary concludes, huffing. "Don't insult my intelligence by bullshitting me, Crowley. If you think we're morons here, remember that  _I'm_  the moron who got your son into remission."

Dean's chest puffs up at his mother's words, at the power she holds even with this political asshole with the balls to lie through his teeth. He watches Crowley clench his jaw and then press his lips together.

"Fine," he says. "I don't know what's in that drug but all his patients think they have Lymphoma."

"Hodgkin's? Non-Hodgkin's?"

Crowley stares at her blankly. "If you can let me go now—"

"You fucking bastard, how dare you—" Dean can see something snap in his mother and just as she raises her fist, going ahead to punch Crowley, he clutches on to her and holds her back for the second time that day.

"Mom—"

"Let me go, Dean," Mary hisses, "he deserves it."

"Yeah," he agrees, and grabs her by her shoulders, looking into her eyes and her unshed tears. "He deserves it, but he's not worth your license." Mary nods as Dean turns to Crowley. "We are busting everyone out. Everyone he's kidnapped for his fake reports; all of them. And you are going to help us."

"My—"

 _"I don't give a fuck what happens to your political career, you bastard!"_  Dean roars. "You assholes should have thought of this before you extended government support to these people! Do you even give a shit about what happens to the people who fucking got you to your position in the first place?

"Your son had cancer and you cracked. Did your selfish ass think once about why Roman wouldn't do this the straight way? Did you regret any of this as my Mom made your son better and saved his fucking life; while you knew full fucking well that her own son has been kidnapped and held hostage for this drug testing? Or that you ruined so many lives in your so-called bioweapon testing, because damn you, all you assholes can ever think of is war and more fucking war. As long as your asses are safe, you don't give a shit about anything else, do you?"

"I'll have you know," Crowley says, gritting his teeth, "that I had no idea your brother was taken until you told me just now. As for the bioweapon, we reimbursed the subjects we had taken for the virus testing, and we continue to reimburse them, any of which, they don't seem to have mentioned to you." He throws a pointed glance at Cas and before Dean can think any further, he's moving towards Cas, taking Cas's hand in his and stepping forward.

"Oh, you fucking rich-ass people, with all your so-called hard-earned money, thinking no one else could ever deserve any of that and treating the rest of us like we don't deserve shit." Dean is scathing, fuming, and he's surprised he hasn't spontaneously combusted yet. "I've seen how you reimbursed Cas for this and—"

Crowley narrows his eyes, glancing at Cas. "Have you, now?"

"Yes, and if that was your reimbursement, buddy, you gotta do better," Dean continues, shaking his head. "You fooled these people into thinking it was all about something else, didn't you? Just like my brother feels he has cancer? Because, hey, you have so much power! Who cares about actually telling people what you're up to?"

"It wouldn't be  _classified_  if—"

"You shut your mouth!" Dean lets go of Cas and in two seconds Crowley's collar is clutched in his hands, his breaths coming out in hard gasps. Crowley's eyes are slightly wide though he tries to look as nonchalant as possible and Dean's had enough of this to even care anymore. "You listen here and listen good," he begins, voice simmering down to a low growl. "If anything; and I mean,  _anything_  happens to my brother,  _I will rip your fucking lungs out_."

He lets go of Crowley's collar and steps back, letting the threat resonate between them. There is silence, cold and deadly, with Crowley eyeing them warily. At long last, he lets out a sigh. "How can I help you?"

"Good, that's what I was waiting to hear," says Dean.

"You are going to be a witness when this goes to court," says Mary. "And you are going to tell the cops and feds everything about where to find Roman's hostages. No details spared. I'm fucking serious, Crowley. You owe it to everyone, and not just to me because I treated Gavin."

Crowley seems to take a bit to process that and Dean can see the conflict on his face. Finally, he rolls his eyes. "All right. Come on. Let's do this."

Dean glares at him and Crowley seems to fold, and one by one they leave Dean's place, none of them noticing that his hands are shaking, until Cas's fingers intertwine with his.


	5. Panchamam

"Boy, isn't this a surprise. Mary!"

Dean is relieved more than happy to see Captain Jody Mills when she hugs his mother and when she gets to him next, he returns her hug with warmth. Her office is exactly as he remembers it—neat and full of books, and she's the woman she always has been with her cropped, greying hair, sharp eyes and comforting smile.

"Hey, Dean," she says, clutching his arms as she stands apart for a moment, the smile in her eyes faltering, and Dean looks away before he has to see the all-familiar pity again.

Behind him, Crowley clears his throat. "I thought we were on serious business, Doctor. I don't appreciate my time being wasted, just so you know."

Mary puts her hands on her hips and Jody nods at him, letting go of Dean. "Senator. You said this was an emergency."

"Yes," says Crowley, taking a seat at her table. "I will need you to close the blinds and keep this discreet from everyone but the best in your precinct, Captain."

Jody proceeds to give them privacy, talking to her detectives to keep at their work as she closes the blinds. While she's returning to her chair Dean reaches for Cas's hand and pulls him forward gently. "This is Cas, Jody. He's my friend. And he's the one who alerted us to this."

The twinkle in Jody's eyes tells Dean that she knows exactly what kind of a  _friend_  Cas is. She gestures to the chairs and gets behind her table, interlocking her fingers as she leans forward. "So what are we dealing with here?"

Cas is about to sign to her but Dean clutches his hands and pulls them down, drawing Cas to the small leather couch with him. "I think Senator Crowley can shed light on our situation better than Cas can, Jody." He glares at Crowley, who rolls his eyes at Dean.

"Senator," Jody addresses him.

Crowley sighs, scratching at his nose. "It… it all started with this one government-backed medical project that went wrong."

"Medical project," Jody repeats, frowning. "Okay."

"Super-classified, you understand."

"And?"

Crowley seems to clench and hesitate, but Dean can't take it anymore. "You don't want to tell her, Crowley?" he asks, and Cas squeezes his hand but Dean ignores it. "I thought you guys were damn proud of it!"

"Proud of what?" Jody asks him.

Dean looks into her eyes. "Proud of using poor people to test bioweapons, finding no cure, and leaving them handicapped. And now they're backing another project where healthy people—like my brother—get to be injected with chemo for a cancer they don't have. To stop a post—"

"Post-marketting ban," Crowley grits out.

Jody is about to ask, when Mary speaks. "It's a part of clinical trials. Every drug goes through four phases to get tested, first with healthy volunteers, then sick volunteers, then a comparison between sick volunteers on the existing therapy versus an equal number of sick volunteers on the new drug. The last one is after it's in the market and if it's seen to have bad side-effects it can be banned from the market.

"Basically, Roman's drug failed to pass the test of having no fatal long-term side effects, so Roman Pharmaceuticals kidnapped a few people as their test subjects… or whatever the hell they're trying to do, so they could prove they needn't be banned. Sam… Sam's one of them. They'd had Cas a few years ago to test bioweapons."

Jody's eyes widen. "Bioweapons!"

"He…" Mary turns back and looks at Dean and Cas, "Cas says they've been reimbursing him for making a mistake that got his vocal cords paralysed and he has to visit their lab every six months to keep them happy. He saw Sam there."

Jody takes a deep breath, then stands up. "Okay, then," she says, "first we bust all these people out and then we deal with the rest. Where are they located? Any idea?"

Dean looks at Cas, who nods. "Wichita," he says. "So not far from here."

"I have a friend in Wichita," says Jody, "her name is Donna and she will get this investigated. And you," she tilts her head at Crowley, "I have my eyes on you, pal, so if they're tipped off about us when we get there, we ain't letting you go, senator or not."

Crowley huffs. "I bloody won't tip them off now, will I, with all of you up my arse."

Jody looks over at Dean and Mary. "I'll call you as soon as we make any developments. If they do bust them out—"

" _When_ ," Mary persuades her, voice tight.

"If," Jody maintains. "Sorry, Mary, but I can't make promises here. I can tell you that we'll do our best."

Mary nods, blinking rapidly, and Dean looks away from his mother because he can't take it anymore.

"Go home," Jody tells them. "Take care of yourselves. It will take  _at least_  a couple of days to get everything together and when we're ready for you, I'll give you a call."

Dean is about to protest but she holds her hand up. "This could take days, maybe even weeks, kiddo, because it's not something we can go sort out without knowing what we're up against. It will just be that much more dangerous. And I know it won't be fun and games for you, but let us take it from here, okay?"

Dean wants to say something, wants to nod at the very least, but his face and chest and stomach feel too tight and he keeps squeezing Cas's hand, trying to fight and fight and fight but it's getting too hard.

Sammy might be alive.

This is the first time he's let himself think of it this way, the first time he's even tried to acknowledge it, but it's so hard, and—

He almost doesn't feel himself get to his feet, or feel Cas lead him away to the car, Mary with them. Doesn't remember giving the car keys to his mother and sitting in the backseat, head against his boyfriend's shoulder and it's dark and his mom's saying goodbye and heading to her own place, except Dean is not sure, not aware, until Cas shuts the door behind him and looks into Dean's eyes.

He holds Dean's shoulders and squeezes them lightly. "Will you let me take care of you?" he signs, and Dean can barely refuse as he lets Cas lead him to the bed. Cas takes a moment, fluffing Dean's pillows and making sure he's comfortable before he retires to the bathroom. Dean hears the faucet turn on and water pour into his bathtub and he hugs himself, missing Cas already.

What if they find Sammy now, but he's in a bad way? What if, after all of this, this hope and this pain, they bust them all to find that Sam's just…  _dead_?

There's a hand on Dean's arm and he startles but Cas shushes him and sits beside him, pulling Dean into a hug. Dean leans against Cas's shoulder and closes his eyes, feeling the callus on Cas's jaw rub against his temple, his rough fingers brushing against Dean's cheek. Then he takes Dean's hand to take him to the bathroom.

Cas seats Dean on the closed lid of the toilet before undressing him, undoing each button on Dean's shirt gently. He places his hand on Dean's chest when he's done, gets Dean to stand up, and pulls down his pants and boxers. The bathtub is full, and when Dean sets foot into it the temperature is just right, and Cas seats himself at the rim of the bathtub, pulling a small basket of hand towels towards himself.

"Cas," Dean begins again and Cas shushes him, taking one of the towels to wet at the sink. He strokes Dean's forehead and lets him rest it against the wall before he places the cool washcloth over Dean's eyes. In that moment, Dean lets Cas take full control.

The air is heavy with the scent of the bubble bath, the white noise of trickling water calming to Dean's ears as Cas dips another washcloth into the water, running it along Dean's arms and face. Fingers trace the paths of Dean's knife, lips press against his scars, his forehead. Dean's chest and throat are heavy, but all he knows is that Cas is here and Cas is going to always be here. That he could always trust Cas even blindfolded.

The soreness, heaviness he hadn't known had existed in his body dissolves with the dirt, his headache letting up with the pressure of Cas's fingers against his scalp with the shampoo, then again when he washes it off with the shower. Dean feels it didn't last long enough, even though he's pruning, even though the water is getting cold, and he can't help but protest when Cas draws the plug, letting all the water drain out.

When Cas takes the washcloth off Dean's eyes and runs the shower Dean lets him touch and clean, yet more, he lets Cas wash him down, wrap him in a towel to dry him, and in the harsh brightness of the bathroom it's just the two of them and sounds of the last of the water draining away, of Cas's warmth as he wipes Dean off with the towel and leads him back to the bed.

Cas doesn't bother redressing Dean—just pulls his bedcovers back and lets Dean get in before undressing himself; and there he is, mind, body, and soul, enclosing Dean, spooning him, and tucking them together into Dean's bed.

Dean sleeps like a baby that night.

**~o~**

For two days Dean lets himself submit entirely to Cas—and this time, it's not even in the kinky way.

Cas brings the kittens over and takes Dean shopping for a litter box and a bed that they could have at Dean's place. Benny gets home burgers from the restaurant and Cas invites him over for a movie, even though halfway through Dean is asleep in his lap. Later, Dean wakes up to find himself in the couch, wrapped in a blanket and his head on a pillow, while Cas sits on the floor, sleeping with his head on the same pillow, his forehead pressing against Dean's.

Sometimes the kittens themselves help. Like when Gingie falls asleep on Charkie's ass while Charkie wants to play, or when they both climb Dean's shoulders and decide to grapple there, running around his neck, mewing and purring at him. Ginger especially seems to enjoy nibbling at Dean's ears, and he jokes that she's learning things from Cas, feeling himself smile for the first time in days. He lets Cas take him in his arms, consume him.

On the third day, Dean  _wants_  Cas again, not just to wipe him down or bathe him, but they're in the living room, stacking some of Dean's movies when Dean feels it, and it's like he's waking up from a deep slumber.

Dean knows instantly that Cas sensed what he wanted, for Cas is putting the Blu-Rays aside and pushing him against the wall, lips meeting his, warm and familiar and Dean lets himself melt. He lets Cas hold his wrists up, feels lips and tongue and teeth and saliva on his jaw, ears, neck, and his hands are free, except  _he's_  not, for Cas is clutching at his hips.

Dean shuts his eyes as he hears the zipper of his pants come undone… his waistband goes down, and Cas takes him in his mouth, hands going back to Dean's bare hips.

Dean moans. "Cas," he whispers, "please."

Cas lets out what seems like a low hum of appreciation, head thrown back as his tongue explores Dean and hands moving, tracing in coordination with his tongue, letting Dean escalate and escalate further.

"S'n ova… bitch," Dean pants, "God…" Each muscle clenching, sweat dribbling down his face as Cas holds on to Dean's butt.

"Please," Dean whispers this time as Cas's tongue swishes again, "please… fuck…" He looks down once, just once, to see the sparkle in Cas's eyes as he pulls Dean into him, letting him slide down his throat.

"Dude, oh my…" Dean is slack jawed, electric impulses racing everywhere and Cas just continues, continues until Dean is coming, his hands over his mouth so he doesn't scream and—

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!" Dean pants and whispers and gasps and when Cas moves away he can't stand anymore, can't even function until he's sliding down the wall and staring at Cas—Cas with Dean's come still glistening at the corner of his lips, Dean's boyfriend, his hottest date, the guy he  _loves loves loves._

"I love you," Dean whispers before he can think any further. "God, Cas, I fucking love you, you—"

He is interrupted when his phone rings from the pocket of his discarded jeans and he reaches over to it, grabbing his boxers because Cas isn't saying anything, isn't signing, and is just sitting over there with his head tilted to one side.

 _Way to ruin a good thing,_  Dean thinks as he takes the call. "Hello?"

 _"_ _Is this Dean Winchester?_ " a strange voice asks him.

"Yeah, who—?"

 _"_ _I'm from the Wichita Police Department. We found your brother, Sam Winchester, along with several others, and…"_  The rest of her words just dissolve as Dean stands there, listening, his boxers in his other hand while his head spins.

 _"_ _Sir?"_  she asks him from the other end of the line.  _"Are you all right?"_

"Yeah, yeah," His eyes are filling and Cas notices. He gets up from his place and wipes his mouth on his wrist as he comes over to Dean, concern written on every inch of him. "Where… where is he? Is he okay?"

 _"_ _He's all right. We took all of them to the hospital just to be sure. I'll give you the address. We will have to question him here but we thought you would like to visit."_

"Of course," Dean says, "so where is he?"

 _"_ _St Luke's Memorial."_

"Wichita?"

 _"_ _Wichita."_

"I'll be right there."

Dean doesn't even wait for her to disconnect for his phone is dropping out of his hands and everything is too blurry and Cas is at his side, falling to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around Dean.

And that's how Dean receives news of his brother still being alive: half-naked, overwhelmed, and crying on his boyfriend's warm shoulder because the pain, the pain had been so much and he can't believe that it's over, that they actually got here.

This is a story he will have to fabricate for his grandchildren, too, because it would sound too dramatic otherwise. Besides, he won't know until later that this battle is far from over. This is just the build-up. The median. The hour of calm before it all gets worse and screws with everybody's life.

**~o~**

"Damn, this one looks bad. Tyson, get a stretcher here!"

Sam's world spins, shudders, he's floating away and he doesn't know. What's happening? What's happening and where is he?

"Chhh…Charrrlie?"

_That room, the papers._

Sam struggles against the arms that are holding him, and he tries to escape. He doesn't know what they made him inhale the last time and it's the same thing for the second time now and they gave it to Charlie too…

Voices and voices and voices.

"He's panicking, I'm pushing in some Versed."

"How's his BP looking?"

"Slightly high. Respirations are over thirty per minute."

"Go for it."

_The room. Waiting for Charlie. The papers. Sam always knew he was being experimented on, but the file…_

There is something on his face, he wants it out, wants it out—

"Keep it there, buddy, it's good for you."

**_Name: Sam Winchester_ **

**_Age: 33_**

**_Sex: M_ **

_Normal reports._

_Normal, normal, normal._

_No Hodgkin's Lymphoma, no chemo. It had been a cold, they were giving him…_

There's bile rising up his throat and he's throwing up and everything burns and he's dying, dying, dying. Cancer free and dying and receiving saline for six months, thinking it was chemo and still dying.

He should laugh, but he can't fight the darkness away. He hopes Charlie is doing better than he is.

**~o~**

Dean doesn't remember much after the phone call. Just Cas's tender touches as he redressed Dean and hugged him for a few more minutes, before driving him to his mother's place. It was her siesta time and Mary was still asleep when they let themselves into her place with the spare key that Dean has. It was for the first time Dean had seen his mother's orange pill bottle, containing sedatives, realised that he'd never asked or thought of just how hard Sam's disappearance from their lives had been on her.

Later on, somehow, they were in the car, the same as a couple of days ago when they'd been coming back from the police department. The wait had been painful enough, but the drive is worse. Dean doesn't think of much, just lets Cas hold him throughout. Cas brought the kittens along because he doesn't want them starving if he's gone longer than expected and he'd let them out of the carrier for a while so they played around in the backseat until they got tired. Currently, they're both snoozing away up in Dean's lap. Charkie was the first to get tired and doze off, followed by Gingie who climbed on and groomed and kissed Charkie a whole bunch before curling up with her sister. Dean looks at them and leans closer into Cas's warmth, wishing he could have protected his brother in the same way. Unfortunately for them, they're not kittens and Sam is a grown-ass man who Dean can only look out for. He couldn't, and can never, truly protect him.

He hates that he'd come to this conclusion in the six months that he's grieved for his brother. He wishes he were wrong, but he knows he's not. They seem to have gotten lucky this time, but…

He grits his teeth to stop himself from thinking about it.

When his mother pulls over at a truck stop to restock on water, Dean has to pee, but he doesn't get out of the car, doesn't even dare to move, resigned to the fate of dying in this position with two kittens sleeping in his lap. Castiel, the bastard, flaunts his privilege by winking at Dean as he gets out to pee and Dean gives him the finger, surprised that he's still smiling when Cas comes back.

"You're a bastard, you know," Dean says, leaning over for a kiss on the mouth when Cas sits next to him

Cas returns it, tongue sliding against sensitive skin, and he smirks. Dean shakes his head at him. "You know how hot that is, but you gotta hold on, buddy. I ain't bumpin' uglies with you in front of your cats… or risking my mom seeing us on accident."

"I'll make it fast," Cas signs, leaning over again and Dean kisses him once more.

"Sorry, man, but you'll have to wait this time." Dean lets out a sigh, mind darkening again. "I don't know if I can… not until I know Sammy is okay."

Cas stops smirking at that. "I understand," he signs, then kisses Dean's mouth, cheek, and his temple, lips gentle and loving, and Dean takes it all in, shutting his eyes.

"I mean," he says, swallowing, watching Cas as he pulls away, and Cas shakes his head again, indicating he needs no explanation.

Dean just looks at him for a whole moment. "I love you."

Cas gives him a knowing smile, sweet and confident and sexy, and signs, "I love you, too."

Dean leans into him as much as he can without disturbing the miniature predators on his lap and before he even knows it, Mary is pulling over at the hospital, ambulances, police cars, and news reporters crowding around the entrance, and Dean knows this is it. Somewhere inside is his brother and Dean has no idea what to expect. He swallows and steels himself.

 _"_ _Sammy."_

**~o~**

When Sam wakes up in a totally different place from where he last slept he knows he's in trouble. What happened? Did they catch him? What is going on? Oh God, he has to tell Charlie. This is all a lie. They're not sick… they're not even getting chemotherapy. But—how come…? He needs to figure this out. God, and his head hurts and his stomach… what the hell is that thing they've dosed him with? And twice now?

"Ch-Charlie…" He can hardly speak and he tries to lift his head up, everything spins. That's when he hears the beeping of the monitor beside him and the needles in his veins and he realises…

What the hell is he doing in a hospital?

"Ch-Charrrrllll…" The word slurs away and he feels like he's going to throw up. They're gonna kill him. They're gonna kill him, aren't they? In a different place, and he can't—he can't show them he's afraid…

He barely notices the beeping getting quicker but before he knows it, there is a muffled voice as everything goes grey.

"Mr. Winchester? Mr. Winchester!"

That's odd, he's always been used to being called…

"Mr. Winchester, Sam, you need to calm down. You're safe now. Your mother and brother are waiting outside… you're safe."

"D-Deannn?" God, he never thought… what…?

There is a scuffing of shoes. "Sammy?" That voice. God, Dean.

"Sammy, I'm right here." Dean's face comes into focus and it can't be because he looks so drawn out and old… Sam's hallucinating. He's gotta be.

"He's not calming down!"

"D-DEAN!"

"Right here, buddy." A hand on his shoulder, more grey, and then he can't understand… can't…

"It's okay, calm down. This should help. This should help."

Something cool spreads all over Sam and he doesn't let the tears fall out of his eyes but they may promise him falsely about Dean and they might break him but they're never ever going to see how much they've succeeded.

Never.

**~o~**

Dean can barely hold himself together when he sees Sam slipping back into unconsciousness. He had been so delighted when the nurse had called them in, saying Sam's awake, but Sammy… he's not okay.

He looks pale and drawn out and like he hasn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes were murky when he opened them, not astute like they always had been, and Dean can't help but notice how Sam got worse when he saw him.

He looks back at his mom who has taken a seat next to Sam's bed. She has his hand in hers and Dean just stares for a whole moment. Cas went back to settle his kittens in a motel room since they're going to be here a while anyway, and he can't get them into the hospital for obvious reasons. He's only been away for fifteen minutes and Dean misses him already.

He doesn't think he could have survived this last month without Cas, doesn't think he can do this without him. He wants things to go back to what they were before Sam went missing, with Cas added to his life from way back then but this is his life now and…

He rubs a hand down his face. "Mom?"

"Yeah, honey," Mary whispers, not looking at him, and he understands why she won't take her eyes off Sam.

"Be right back, okay?"

"Sure."

He exits the room, throat tight. He doesn't know where he's going. Maybe a cigarette, a few whiskies, he's not sure… he…

Someone stops him, and Dean looks up, blinking at Cas, who seems to be back from the motel. He smiles softly and starts to sign. "I was just going to come and see your brother. How's he doing?"

"He – he… uh, woke up," Dean tells him, trying to breathe through the heaviness in him. "B-But he's kinda out of it."

"I understand. He must have had a hard time."

And God, a hard time? Understatement. But Dean looks at Cas, someone who's gone through the same as his brother, and thinks of how he's the one falling apart when they've been the ones…

God, he's so fucking selfish.

"Dean." Cas signs, "I understand this is difficult for you."

Dean chuckles, blinking. "Yeah, sure," he clears his throat, "I mean,  _I_ was the one who was kidnapped and used as a guinea pig, right?"

"No, but that doesn't undermine what you've been through."

Dean looks on, looks on while not believing Cas actually said that, and before he knows it he's in Cas's arms for the second time that day, latching on to him like a little child, tears endless just like his pain has been all this time.

Cas says nothing. He just holds Dean together like he has been all this time.

**~o~**

When Sam wakes up again, his mind seems to have it together. He recognises the white walls at once for a hospital, but it's the familiar, firm hand in his that gains his attention.

Mom.

It can't be.

He opens his eyes and there she is, tired and haggard-looking, eyes closed as she sits there in her chair and Sam wants to say something, but he can't get himself to talk. That's when he hears his brother's voice.

"Sammy?"

He blinks, and at the door is Dean, standing abreast a vaguely familiar man, but Sam doesn't have time to think about where he's seen the other guy before. Dean walks forward, mouth slightly open but also wary, and his eyes are red-rimmed.

Oh, Dean.

"Sammy," he says again, more desperate this time, and Sam can't help but let himself smile.

"D-D'n?"

"Yeah," Dean says, smiling back. "It's me."

Sam chuckles. "To…ok you l-long en-ennnough t'find m-mme, Jerk."

Dean beams at him but Sam can see a film of tears in his eyes. "Yeah, well," he clears his throat, "next time you pull a disappearing act like this, try not to disguise it so well, Bitch."

Sam scoffs. "F-Fair 'nuff." And he has to say nothing more because he's warm and secure in the arms of his big brother and right when that happens he feels his mom wake up and call out to him.

"Sam!"

However, at this moment, nothing else matters. He's safe, he's alive, and he seems to have made it out of whatever it was that he was being subjected to. And the best of all? His moronic brother and his leather and ham and motor oil smells are here with Sam, making it seem like he'd never been away at all.

Except, he had. Except, there's a lot of work to do, even from here.

**~o~**

"Well, this is it. My humble abode, just like you remember it."

"Yeah." Sam sniffs the air. "Exactly as stinky, too."

"Shut up," Dean tells him. "I could have doomed you to stay with Mom." He takes Sam's coat and hangs it on the hook while his little brother makes his way to the sofas. After a three-day stay at the hospital Sam was cleared to go back home when all his reports came back normal, just like the others, except for Sam's friend, Charlie, who had a bit of a hiccup from an inhalational anaesthetic she and Sam were given on their two instances of attempted escape. She'll be okay though, and it doesn't seem to have affected Sam the way it screwed with her.

Sam's still pale and tired, mostly from the trauma of being held hostage for six months. The doctors had read his file from Roman's illegal trials and figured out that he wasn't even actually getting chemo. Just saline, which _, thank fuck_. It looks like Roman just wanted to fake a few good reports to keep his drugs up and none of that shit is going to stand anyway, now that he's been caught.

Mom had attended straight to Jo once they were sure about Roman's drug. Sam met Cas, liked Cas, and the kittens adopted Sam as their own, Charkie especially deciding that Sam's lap is her bed forever, so everything's kinda settled for now.

Presently, Sam makes himself comfortable and shoots the puppy-dog eyes at Dean. "You would really do that to me? Make me eat Mom's cooking?"

Dean narrows his eyes at him. "Oh, so  _now_  my place ain't all that smelly, is it?" He collects the mail from the table near the door, browsing through for anything important.

"Naw, it still is."

"Fucker."

"You're the one doing all the fucking, dude," Sam says, shutting his eyes and throwing an arm over them. "And you wouldn't even call Eileen for me!"

"For fucking—? Gross, Sam! Jeez, I know six months is a long time, but—"

"No, not like that." Sam sounds too huffy and tired to protest with too much zeal. "I just wanted to talk to her. Does she even know?"

"She does  _now_ , but we had to kinda hush it up when we came to meet you. Cas was the one who ratted Roman out in the first place, so that's how I could bring him along, you know?"

Dean pauses a little at his lie, wondering if he should tell Sam the truth. Eileen still cares a lot about Sam and she'd been disappointed when she found out she'd not been invited along for the journey to go see Sam at Wichita. She'd understood when Dean told her why he'd made that particular decision, though.

He didn't want Sam waking up to the fact that people had moved on in his absence, even if Sam's totally understanding and might be expecting it at some level. It's still not super uplifting.

He puts the mail down and turns around, leaning with his palms against the table and facing his brother. He doesn't know what to say.

"I tried calling her," Sam whispers. He chuckles breathily. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she found someone else… she  _is_  awesome."

Dean tries to smile but it falters. "Yeah, I know she's pretty damn awesome," he says, "because my little brother likes her, and…" A tingle runs through him, just at the thought. "She introduced me to Cas."

"Seriously,  _that's_  the story you're going with?"

Dean raises his eyebrows, making his way over to the couch and sitting down. "Uh, excuse me, but  _story_?"

"Yeah, Cas told me," Sam replies. His legs kick at Dean's thigh until Dean gives in and lets Sam rest his feet on his lap. "Grindr sex gone well, huh?"

"Shut up." Dean tries to ignore the blush creeping up his cheeks. "When did you become best friends with Cas anyway? And okay, yeah, but she did take me to his studio, okay? That's how we started  _dating_  dating. And you can talk to Eileen when she comes over for the party. It's in a couple of days once you're settled."

Sam peeks at him from underneath his arm. "There's a party?"

"Apparently, there are still some morons who want to meet with my geeky little brother. Go figure."

Sam kicks him and Dean lifts his hands off his brother's legs. "Hey! No kicking the guy who's entertaining your tantrums." He stops, and Dean swears he can see a pout on Sam's face. He narrows his eyes. "Seriously, dude, you're a grown-ass man in his thirties. Stop with that stupid pout."

"But it works on you," Sam says, pouting some more.

Dean huffs out a sigh and pushes Sam's legs off him. "All right, I'm hitting the hay."

"'Kay."

"I'm going."

"Go."

Dean waits for a moment, then settles back and puts Sam's legs on his lap again. "You're not even gonna  _ask_  me about Cas?" He's been waiting too long. To tell Sam about it. Even if he knows Sam will probably just make fun of him, but then again, Annoying Little Brother has been the one person Dean's always been able to trust.

Sam doesn't even  _try_  to move or act like this is something huge. "What do you want me to ask, Dean?" he says, almost bored. "When are you proposing?"

"Proposing?"

"Yeah." Sam puts his arm down and suddenly he's looking healthier than he has since he came back. "Dude, you're not gonna try and trick me into thinking he isn't a big deal, are you? I may be tired, but I still have all my brain cells in place."

Dean scratches the back of his neck. "Well… he kinda is. Special, I mean. No, I just… wanted to ask."

"Ask me about…?"

"If… I dunno," says Dean. "Guess your love for chick flick moments rubbed off on me. Go figure."

"Sure, if that's what helps you sleep at night." Sam pushes himself off the sofa. "You got the spare room ready?"

"Nah."

"Good, I'll crash on your memory foam, then."

Sam's already disappeared from Dean's view by the time Dean processes that. "Hey! No way!" He jumps up and follows after his brother, only to enter his room and find said brother face down on the pillows.

Dean doesn't know if Sam's asleep or not but he's not in the mood to wake the grump up and face the consequences. So he thinks for a moment, shrugs, and settles into the empty side of the bed. "You'd better not kick me, bitch."

"And you'd better not think I'm Cas, jerk," Sam replies right away, a little slurry, a little muffled.

"Don't make it weird."

"Dean, either shut up and sleep or get out of here," Sam replies, very grumpy this time.

"Okay, okay."

Sam's reply isn't much more than a snore.


	6. Dhaivatam

Charlie hates that she's had to transfer from one hospital to another instead of just going home. And this time it's so damn boring because Sam's not with her, either, and he was the only human being she's ever spoken to in six months, apart from being from Lawrence like her. The rest of them are home… wherever else they were from, still strangers despite their shared struggle.

Turns out, unlike the others, who got out clean, Charlie managed to be affected by the two times they put her and Sam out while they were trying to sneak around looking for answers on where they were. It's called halothane hepatitis because… yeah, there is a limited number of times that you can inhale halothane before it begins to fry your liver. Thank fuck that Sam escaped whatever this thing is, because it's crummy.

Luckily for Charlie, it's not that bad. Her liver isn't failing, just a little dysfunctional, and the doctors are confident they can get it up and working in no time. And, okay, maybe she's in a good mood today because the girl she's sharing her room with is  _hot_  but Charlie is not sure if she can talk to her and that's just pissing her off.

Her name's Jo and she's a person who really has cancer and was really on Lymphostat so…  _yeesh_. She said they'd started ABVD for her recently, and she caught a UTI from Lymphostat. Which, ouch. Charlie feels lucky now that all her reports and "chemo" were fake, even if she had a bad six months of it. Jo had only spoken to her once in the morning, a hey, and a couple things about herself, and then she was heaving up her guts until she managed to sleep or pass out—Charlie is not sure which one actually happened.

And, just as she's thinking that—

"Hey." Jo's raspy voice sounds from the other side of the curtain, making Charlie almost jump up.

"Hey!" she replies. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got turned inside out," Jo replies, and Charlie watches her shadow fumble with the call button for a nurse.

Charlie manages to sit up a little. "Need help with anything?"

"Nah, I got it. You rest up."

"Dude," Charlie begins, "I could never take half that shit you're going through. Respect."

"Yeah, and you were held hostage for six months thinking you had what I have, so we're even," replies Jo.

"Yeah." Charlie pauses to push her hair behind her ears and wiggle against her pillow. "We  _are_  kinda awesome."

"Kinda? We're  _really_  awesome, dude. Don't underestimate us." A nurse enters, and Jo chuckles, a raspy, beautiful noise that makes Charlie's heart flutter. Why do girls have to be so irresistible? They're  _all_  fucking beautiful, for fuck's sake. And this one girl in her room.  _Fuck_.

"Sorry," Charlie replies, watches the nurse fuss over Jo and scratches around her IV, her heart lifting when the curtain between them is opened. Jo is lounging there in her half-raised bed, eyes sunken, lips chapped, and freckles sticking right out, and Charlie wants to wrap her legs around the woman.

Jo raises an eyebrow, pushing away hair from her face. "It would be cool if you didn't stare, you know."

"Sorry," Charlie repeats. "I'm – I'm a little awkward, and honestly you're really sexy, so—" It's out of her mouth so fast that she wants to punch herself. She bites the inside of her cheek. "I mean, I don't know, I say stupid stuff sometimes."

"That's cool," Jo tells her. She adjusts her pillows so she's fully turned to Charlie's side. "So what do you say, you wanna go out for coffee once we're both out of here?"

"A-are you allowed in public spaces?"

"No, but you're allowed at my place." Jo winks, and Charlie feels her heart… and  _something else_  flutter a little.

"Of course."

"Then it's a date," says Jo.

Charlie swallows. "Yes."

**~o~**

Cas opens the can of dry food and he's not even blinked an eye before the kittens are mewing incessantly at his feet. It's been an exhausting few days and he needs to go to Dean's later today for Sam's little party. He hasn't had a lot of time with Dean since they brought Sam home and Cas has been keeping his distance, giving Dean time with his family, but he would very much love to lie in bed with Dean once this is all settled over.

Gingie and Charkie circle him, each alternately rubbing against his leg as he starts to put food into their bowls. He's about to get to the tap to replace their water when Gingie decides that enough is enough. Needle-like claws sink into his skin through his jeans and he hisses, bending over to detach her from himself.

He'd just done that when Charkie starts to mew, and then her claws are in his other leg.

Jesus Christ.  _Cats_.

Gingie is back up, climbing him again, and Cas just snatches their bowls and awkwardly walks to the living room, being as careful as he can to not hurt them. They're up to his thighs, but they jump off immediately when he sets the food on the floor. He's about to check the damage to his skin from their claws when the doorbell rings.

Cas gets there and sees a blonde woman through his peephole. Puzzled and not expecting anyone, he opens the door. She gives him a wide smile. She's about as old as Sam, as tall as Cas, and she has a bunch of files in her arms.

"Castiel Novak?"

Cas nods, giving her his hand to shake.

"Jessica Moore," she replies, balancing the files precariously on one arm as she returns Cas's gesture. "I'm the attorney for your case. And… I happen to know ASL, so…" She looks away, apparently a little flustered, but Cas almost doesn't notice that.

"Case?" he signs. "Why?"

"Well, Roman and his pals deserve to be punished for this, but we don't do that without trial, so… can I come in?"

Cas has no choice but to move aside for her, his entire body trembling. He can hear her put the files on his coffee table while he shuts the door.

"I'm sorry if I'm here at a bad time. I just need to ask you a few questions so I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can. Cool?" Jessica is leaning over his kittens while she speaks, scratching their heads, and Cas can see his little morons thoroughly enjoying that. "They're really cute," she coos.

"I know," Cas signs in reply when she turns around, and gestures to the sofa. He hates that he's having to do all of this, having to pretend he's cool with it when he's not, he is so not, and there is nothing more he wants to do right now than run away.

Jessica, obviously not knowing of the storm brewing inside of Cas, graciously accepts his invitation to sit and settles herself on the patchwork cushions. "Shall we begin?"

He nods, ignoring the insane, frenzied beating of his heart because everything is falling apart,  _oh God… oh God, they're going to sue Roman, and—_

"So… Castiel," Jessica treads lightly, and Cas doesn't object so she continues. "You can call me Jess, by the way. Anyway. Tell me your story."

"Story?" Cas signs to her.

"Yeah. Your background. How Roman got you. All that. Let's start from the beginning, yeah?"

Cas nods, ignoring every alarm bell that rings inside him. "I was born and raised here," he signs, "and we were well-off and a closely-knit family. That is until my parents died in a car crash when I was nine years old, and the entire responsibility of me fell into the hands of my elder brother, who'd just turned eighteen at that time. Our money was taken away by a conniving uncle and that was the beginning of a life full of poverty."

Jess's eyes are big, sympathetic, something Cas has seen way too many times, and he has to force himself to look away. "Anyway," he signs, "my brother was attacked at a bar and he got injured and…"

"And?" Jess asks him. "What is his name?"

Cas swallows. "Gabriel," he whispers, having let the name escape his lips for the first time in a long, long time. He reigns his emotions in and blinks away the stinging behind his eyes as he braces himself to tell her about it. He knows what's going to happen. He knows there is going to be more sympathy but he's stuck in the middle of all of this, between helping Dean and helping himself and…

Oh God.

"Gabriel was paralysed from the attack," he continues, and his hands are trembling a little. He wishes he could just talk, because he's losing it and he is afraid he is going to shatter.

"Okay," Jess continues.

"The hospital bills were too much for me. For extra income I enrolled myself into volunteering for what was advertised to me as clinical trials and… and I lost my voice. They'd injected a virus into me—it was bioweapon testing, government authorised, and they had not developed a treatment or a cure for it yet. But when it backfired, they let me go. They had to let me go. As insurance they promised to take care of my brother's hospital bills if I kept quiet. I was told later that my voice…"

"Vocal cord palsy," Jess replies, nodding. "I was told about that. So." She hesitates, consulting one of the files she has. "Your brother. Gabriel. Where is he now?"

Cas takes in deep breaths as he turns to look at Jess, watching her eyes widen. They both know what he's about to say, and Cas can't, he  _can't_ , but it's the truth, and Cas can't deny it any longer. "He's dead," he whispers, and while Jess pretends to write that down on her pad, Cas wipes off the lone tear that falls down his cheek.

**~o~**

****

 

Dean looks around at all the people in his living room before checking his phone again. Just like five minutes ago, there's no reply to his text. He doesn't even know if Cas has seen it at all and for some reason, the whole thing is making him restless. Cas hasn't been talking much since they got back to Lawrence a couple of days ago.

No matter what, Dean can't ignore that everything that's happened is a recount for Cas's trauma, too, even if he and everyone else seems to be more worried about Sam at this moment, but it's not true that Dean cares about Cas any less than he cares about Sam. And he hates to think that maybe Cas took Dean's excitement for his brother coming back from the dead to mean that Dean would want some space away from him, but that's not true, either. Cas is as much family to him as Mom and Sam, and Dean hopes Cas gets that.

Then again, he's never said it out loud.

It had all felt incomplete until now… but Dean's got everyone he ever wanted back in his life now and he's scared that something is going to jinx his happiness. And he hates to think that way. Hates that his life took turns that lead him to question the slightest bits of happiness, when compared to so many people, and hell, even Sammy and Cas, Dean's had a fucking great life.

Ah, fuck. He needs a damn cigarette.

He goes over to his table and grabs one along with his Zippo, and proceeds to the fire exit. He lights up, takes a drag, and lets himself relax as he watches the smoke fan out of his mouth, setting his beer bottle on the window's ledge. Sam's already disapproving of Dean's new habit but Dean needs it right now. And speaking of Sam…

He looks through the glass and catches his brother sitting in a corner, talking to Eileen. They both look serious, but Eileen is soft and friendly, and Dean knows Sam won't hold anything against her. Because unlike Dean, he's not an asshole. Eileen has her life outside of Sam, outside of them, and she deserves to lead that life.

He takes another drag, looks at the stars and watches the smoke fog over them, enjoying the thought of creating a cloud through his mouth. He reaches for the beer and fingers the neck of his sweaty bottle, wishing he could get himself to be happy, to somehow turn that magical switch on, and just,  _God_ , act like something great just happened in his life. Just for once. But he seems to be physically incapable of that. His mind is… well, fuck, isn't he just all screwed up?

The doorbell rings at that point and Dean turns to watch Benny get it, and he doesn't have to look at the person at the door longer than a second before he's crushing the cigarette under his shoe and climbing back into his living room.

"Hey, would you look at that," Benny says, smirking, as he winks at Dean. "You didn't tell us your man would be making a celebrity appearance, Dean."

Dean barely hears what Benny says, for he is focussed on Cas. Cas, who looks ragged, hair dishevelled, face pale, and eyes bloodshot and wide. And Dean doesn't know who or what did that to his boyfriend but the rage is there in a moment, to go pound at whoever caused him that trouble.

"Cas?"

Cas gets in, only to hug Dean and Dean is taken a little aback by that. Everyone at home seems to have noticed it; Mom, Sam, Eileen, their friends, and of course, Benny, and somehow Dean feels like Cas was hoping this moment would be private. So he nods at his guests, hopes they will understand as he puts an arm around Cas and leads him to his bedroom. The awkward silence that seems to follow them inside is there even after Dean shuts the door, but he doesn't have time to care.

"Cas!" He puts his hands on Cas's shoulders and holds him at a distance, trying to figure out what's wrong. "What happened, man? You okay?"

Cas nods, at least he tries to, but he raises a trembling hand to run it through his hair and Dean feels stupid because of course he is not fucking okay and that was a stupid question to ask in the first place. Cas keeps looking around, gaze meandering here and there, and he looks like he might pass out so Dean gets him to sit down.

"Talk to me, dude," he says.

Cas shakes his head at that and to Dean's utter horror, when he looks up, his eyes are full of unshed tears.

"Hey," Dean whispers, going over to cup his boyfriend's face. "Hey, what happened? Cas, look, I'm here, okay, and…"

Cas shakes his head again and shuts his eyes, tears falling down his face as he starts to tremble. Dean doesn't know what to do, how to handle this because Cas is strong, he always has been, and this…

Cas lets out a small sniffle and Dean feels his heart shatter to pieces. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to help. But he does know how to try and hold Cas together so he does just that. He wraps himself around Cas, pulls him close, and they're lying on the bed, curled against each other, Dean rubbing his back and muttering to never let go and making sure none of those are empty promises and sweet nothings, for whatever it is, he will be there for Cas just like Cas has been here for him for all these days, through all of Dean's shitty moods, loving him no matter what.

**~o~**

Sam knows the party is over as soon as Cas shows up at Dean's doorstep, broken and ragged. He's been talking to Eileen, has been talking to her since the beginning. He knew from the moment Dean started to avoid talking about her that she'd probably moved on, and he kept his appropriate distance from her, wanting to let her talk about it when she was comfortable.

It came up sooner than he expected it to.

"Sam," she'd said, and for some reason, her beautiful face seemed smaller that time, and Sam  _knew_. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be," he signed, "you thought I was dead."

It hadn't taken more than that. He hadn't expected her to apologise again or to put him on a pedestal for not being a dick about it. They'd hugged tight, and they'd moved on to talking about her rescues.

"Bobo's adorable," Eileen signs to him, "but he's also a bully." Bobo is a middle-aged asthmatic cat at the shelter.

"Really?" Sam says, immediately interested. He'd always wanted a dog but it wasn't possible with him being outside and working most of the time at Palo Alto. He'd planned on adopting one (and proposing to Eileen) when he'd been about to come down from Palo Alto, before he thought he had cancer, but the way things are going now, one can't happen right now and the other is officially off his plans. He could always wheedle Dean into fostering some animals, though.

"Yeah, he's pretty and sweet when he meets you and he'll rub against you until you can't help but pet him."

"I don't see what's wrong with that," Sam signs to her.

"No, but the problem is when you stop. That can't happen, and he will punish you if you do," she says, and she's giggling a little, as if remembering a funny incident from before.

"Do I want to know how he'd punish me?"

"He'll bite you," Eileen tells him, as if it's not a big deal. "And it hurts."

"I see you have experience there."

"Me and everyone who falls in love with his eyes. They're green and I almost named him Dean but I didn't think your brother would appreciate it."

"Crap, this is a missed opportunity," Sam replies, sparing a glance at Dean's bedroom door, which is still shut. He hopes Cas is all right. "Dean's good with Cas's kittens, though, have you met them?"

"Of course, they're adorable."

"Yeah, they are. I think one of them really likes my lap."

"Which one?"

"Charkie, is it? Charcoal?"

"Oh, yeah, she's pretty shy, compared to her sister. No wonder she likes you," Eileen signs, amused and adoring at the same time. Sam's eyes catch hers and he lets himself admire the sparkle that she's always carried in them before looking away at Dean's door again. This time, Eileen's gaze follows his.

"I think I need to leave," she says. "Me and the others. Dean seems to be dealing with something serious."

"Yeah, I hope they're okay," Sam agrees, and doesn't counter the idea of everyone leaving. Personally, he's been feeling a little off since the evening, kinda tired, and he'd appreciate a bit of space, too, so he can lie down and get the rest he needs.

"I'll tell Benny," Eileen signs back. "He'll get them out. You go take a nap."

He chuckles. "You figured it out, huh?"

"You do look pale."

He touches his face, as though that would reveal the pallor. "Huh. Yeah, I'm a little tired… been in the hospital, and before that…"

Eileen leans forward to hug him, planting a light kiss before she separates. "Take care of yourself, Sam," she says. "Come see the kids at the shelter when you're able to."

"I most definitely will," he replies, and watches her collect her phone as she gets up. In the next few minutes, Eileen has spoken to Benny, who empties the apartment of its guests in the politest ways, and Sam gives Benny a hug as he sees him off.

"Tell that brother of yours I'll see him at work," says Benny. "And don't you be a stranger."

"Shut up, I'm always at the restaurant for free food," Sam tells him. He feels a wave of light-headedness rush through him and he holds on to the door so Benny won't notice. God, he really needs to get a nap. The excitement seems to be too much for his body to tolerate.

"I'll see you Monday," says Benny, winking, and Sam chuckles. "Your free food's on me."

Sam bows to that. "Thank you." He waves at Benny, then Eileen as they get to their cars, and he is about to shut the door when his mother comes up to him with her coat and bag.

"You're leaving, too?" Sam asks her.

"I have patients tomorrow, sweetie," she replies, putting her palm on Sam's cheek. "Plus I think your brother needs some time alone." Dean and Cas are still not out of the bedroom.

"Yeah," says Sam. "Maybe I should come along, too."

He is interrupted by his brother's door opening and Dean coming out of his room, seeming a little shaken, but otherwise okay. "Where did everyone go?"

Sam leans back against the door, wishing he could lie down already. "They left," he says. "Reckoned you needed some time with Cas."

"Yeah, uh…" Dean pulls at the sleeves of his shirt. "He's having a hard time. I'm actually going back to his place to get the girls here. You wanna come along?"

Sam doesn't want to go anywhere, but he suspects saying no would get Dean to worry about his health. "Actually, I was thinking of crashing at Mom's tonight."

"Don't be an idiot," Dean says as he extracts his keys from his jacket. "You're staying with me. Come on." He holds on to Sam's arm, pulling him towards the car. "Mom, you need a ride?"

"Got my own," Mary tells them, jingling her car keys. "You boys take care of yourselves and Cas."

"Sure will, Mom," says Dean, and Sam waves at her.

"Bye, Mom."

"Bye, Sam. Bye, Dean." Dean stops, and Mary also stands in her place for a moment, the three of them cherishing this miraculous rebuilding of their family. Then Dean's dragging Sam to the car again but Sam can't help but feel warmth grow into his shaky insides, because honestly, he'd never imagined this day coming back, either.

**~o~**

_"_ _Cas."_

 _"_ _I need you to trust me."_

 _"_ _Of course, what is it?"_

_Cas stops, takes two minutes before he signs, "We can't take this to court, Dean."_

Dean drives the Impala on relatively silent roads, thinking of their brief conversation a few minutes ago. Cas hadn't said why, hadn't even tried to give a reason before breaking down again and God, he seems so freaked out, so panicked, Dean is starting to worry.

Okay, he was worried the moment Cas showed up at his doorstep in that condition tonight.

Cas freaking out, though, is not really a thing that happens, unless it's during sex. Because the guy is kinky as all fuck that way.

There is a fog growing around them, light, but still there, and it's chilly for a summer evening. Dean keeps his eyes on the road and Sam's silent beside him, observing the scenery flying by through the open window.

The breeze comes in, tingles, and from the corner of one eye Dean can see Sam's hair flying with the breeze. He takes a glance and Sam's eyes are shut, face skywards, as if he's trying to smell the air… or praying.

Dean clears his throat. "How was your chat with Eileen?"

It takes Sam a minute to answer, but he's looking at Dean when Dean glances over again, and some of his hair is on his face. "It was fine," Sam replies. "Nothing I didn't expect."

"So…"

"We spoke about her rescues. I'm going to start volunteering again as soon as I can."

Dean lets out a whisper of a laugh, looks at the distorted reflection of moonlight on asphalt. "You're a gentleman."

"Or, you know, a decent human being who isn't selfish," says Sam. "At least…" he pauses, "I try not to be selfish."

Dean wants to convince him he's not, but he can't risk Sam's satisfaction and a chick-flick moment at the same time. He doesn't say much after that, pulling up outside Cas's apartment building and finding a place to park. He reaches for his pocket and pats around for Cas's keys. "Come on."

"Uh, you should probably go on," says Sam. "I'll stay here."

Dean frowns and takes a good look at his brother. Between whatever light the moon and streetlight provide him, he can't see much, except that Sam looks like he could do with a nap. But there is something else there and Dean can't put a finger on it.

"Sammy?"

"Hmm?" Sam turns to Dean, his head against the window.

"You okay?"

Sam shrugs. "You mean, beside the normal? Yeah. I guess."

"The normal." Dean says those words to himself and Sam gives him a wan smile. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure," says Sam.

Dean gets into the building, thinking about what Sam just said, and how stupid he's been. How… how  _God_.

The normal. He didn't even think… didn't even pay attention. After constantly being miserable about losing Sam, now Dean has his brother back, except, he never thought of the consequences. Of Sam being held hostage for six months. Being deprived of nutrition, made to believe that he was very sick, being given unknown drugs.

Sam hadn't known if there was a light at the end of the tunnel. He had been manipulated and cheated and even after being back, he's just having to resign to the fact that everyone changed… moved on, and he's just had to take it and try to make a place for himself again, because what other choice does he have?

And Dean never asked him. Never checked on him to see if he was having nightmares. Never asked how he was doing with the wound from his central line in the lab. How he was taking this entire thing becoming a legal court case (and apparently, Cas has something to say about that, too).

Sam's the same kid who grounded Dean when he needed it. And here, he's the one having to make selfless choices and Dean knows, knows that had he been in Sam's place, he'd have raged and screamed and he would have been utterly, horribly selfish to the last letter.

Dean crates the kittens, carries their blankets, and starts to get back to Sam. The girls seem sleepy because they did not protest when Dean took them out of their bed and put them inside the crate. He is back to his car soon after, securing them in the backseat with a seatbelt, and Sam seems to have dozed off in the same position as Dean had left him just minutes ago. When Dean gets in and turns on the ignition, Sam jerks awake, startled, and Dean tries not to hate himself any more than he already does.

"Bad dream?" he asks, keeping his voice casual as he reverses out of the parking lot.

Sam rubs at his eyes. "Dunno."

"Okay." Dean licks his lips and pulls back onto the road. "This happen a lot?"

"What?"

"The…" Dean purses his lips. "You know, waking up badly."

"Oh, um," Sam clears his throat, "it's kinda… I was in that place, y'know, so, I guess sometimes I forget."

 _I forget what it is like to be safe._  Sam doesn't have to say it for Dean to hear it loud and clear.

"You wanna talk about it?" he pushes gently, testing the waters.

Sam blinks hard a few times and rubs a hand over his face. "I don't know. Do  _you_?"

"Come on, Sam, I wasn't the one who was held hostage for six months."

"Uh-huh, so are we ignoring the fact that you have new cuts now?" Dean takes a second to process that but Sam clarifies, "On your arm. You didn't think I wouldn't notice, did you?"

"Oh, that—"

"You need help, Dean. And you know it would do you good."

"Yeah, but this is not about me, dude," says Dean. "We've known I'm a nut job—"

"Don't say that."

"I'm allowed to say it."

"I don't think so," Sam presses on, "and even if you are,  _don't_."

"Okay, but I'm not news anymore," replies Dean, meandering around a pothole. A frog croaks somewhere and leaves rustle as another breeze picks up around them, the sounds familiar and serene along with the Impala's usual growl.

"Fair enough," says Sam. "So… I'll get help when you do. That good?"

"Sammy…"

"Dean."

He sighs. "Okay. Deal."

"Great."

"But right now," Dean spares another glance at his brother, "how are you feeling?"

"A little tired and achy," Sam accepts, "but I think it will go away. And the food didn't sit so well tonight," he continues, hand going up to rub briefly at his chest. "Think I'm a bit gassy."

Dean rolls his eyes. "As if there are times when you ain't."

"Shut up."

"Yeah, well." Dean takes a turn, entering his street. "If you can hold it in a couple of minutes, Fartface, we're almost there. I've got some of those activated charcoal pills you could take."

Sam rubs his chest again, then leans back. "Sounds like someone else gets gassy, too."

"Yeah," says Dean. "Cas. The kittens."

"Seriously? The  _kittens_? How old are you?"

"Look, I ain't turning this into a fart joke." Dean pulls into the parking space at his own apartment building. "So make of that what you will."

Sam huffs, exasperated, and grabs the keys from Dean to go take something for the noxiousness inside of him. Dean gets to the backseat and peers through the slats of the crate and he can see a tiny, sleeping kitten's face, Charkie, from the looks of it.  _God, she's fucking cute_ , he thinks to himself as he carries them out and to his home.

He hopes Cas is feeling better now. He also hopes that he can make sense of whatever Cas had meant earlier. Then he curses Sam a little bit because now, thanks to his brother, he can no longer make excuses to himself about not getting help.

Stupid, gassy, nerdy kid being a Sasquatch-sized pain in Dean's ass. Guess that's what he'd missed the most about Sam all this time.


	7. Nishaadam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song is referenced here, and it's #32: Manamadurai

Cas is sitting up on Dean's bed when he enters, smiling, and when Dean goes to settle in next to him, he pulls Dean in for a kiss. Dean returns it, and dammit, if his heart doesn't flutter like every other fucking time, as if he's a schoolboy experiencing his first kiss.

He relishes the warm wetness of Cas's lips, holding it in the way he likes to hold in a drag from his cigarette, like an addiction, like elixir to his senses. Then he breaks apart and faces Cas, taking in his boyfriend, going on to hold both of Cas's hands in his.

"Hey. You better?"

Cas nods, expression turning pleading as he squeezes Dean's hands. He has a vulnerability about him: something that Dean's never seen before, and it's not nice to see it now. He wishes he could help Cas somehow, even if he can't understand what's happening here, but he can't make false promises.

"Dean," Cas whispers, and in the partial darkness, Dean thinks he sees tears glistening in Cas's eyes. His heart sinks into his stomach.

"I know, buddy," Dean replies. "I trust you and since you don't want me to, I won't ask. I can't tell you it's a hundred percent, but I will try."

Cas squeezes his hands twice more and nods, understanding. Dean takes a deep breath, looks at his messy but welcoming bed. "You wanna hit the hay now? Your girls are fast asleep, by the way. I kept the crate open so they can use the litter box if they need to. And I'll keep the door open so they can come slap you if they need food."

Cas frowns, but it soon turns into a smile.

Dean chuckles, too. "Dude, listen, they're yours," he says. "I ain't sacrificing my sleep just so I can listen to them mewing at fuck o'clock in the morning."

"I get it," Cas signs back in reply and suddenly, the glisten of tears is gone, and Dean raises a hand, running a finger over the crinkles on the corner of Cas's eyes, admiring the shadows they cast from the moonlight.

Cas tilts his head slightly but doesn't protest Dean's touching. "You have them, too, you know," he signs.

"I know," Dean replies. "But yours are sexy."

"You're strange, Dean."

"Oh,  _you're_  telling me," Dean scoffs, then takes his finger off Cas's face to sign, "Do you even know how weird you are?"

"I never countered that," Cas replies, smile turning wider, all teeth and gums. God, he's beautiful, his face half silver, half shadows and everything that Dean loves. The stubble, the sharp jaw, the hair that's standing everywhere. And it's just… it's there. It's all just there. Everything that Dean loves, all just this one dude, Cas.

God, Cas.  _His_  Cas.

Dean's mind, heart, and soul are all on overdrive, enchanted at this one dude, this one fucking dude, and Dean's just…

Dean ends up saying it.

He ends up saying it right there, on his shaggy bed with Sam in the other room, with his messy life looming over them, in the moonlight, the dead of the night to some dude he met on Grindr whom he now loves, loves so much.

"Cas?"

Cas blinks, tilts his head once more, and Dean can't even get himself to  _think_  further.

"Cas," he says again because he isn't sure once was enough. "Marry me."

He doesn't know what Cas is thinking, doesn't even know Cas does think, because the moment the words are out of his mouth there's a loud crash from Sam's room, getting both Dean and Cas to their feet and rushing out of the door.

**~o~**

Sam couldn't get rid of the weird gassy pain even with Dean's activated charcoal, so he'd sat down reading on his bed for a while, hoping for the gas or acidity or whatever it was to resolve somehow. He'd had no luck, though, so he lay down. He thought he'd felt better then, and everything seemed all right until he got thirsty and made the mistake of getting up from his bed.

He'd been feeling achy and sore since the evening, off and generally unwell, but he hadn't expected the dizziness to strike him the moment he stood up, or even the dull pain in his right side. And that's all he remembers when Dean's voice echoes in his ears, his brother's face wavering into his vision from the darkness.

"Sammy?!"

Sam blinks, tries to say Dean's name, but there's a sudden pressure on his chest and he struggles to get up.

"Sam!" Dean tries to keep him lying down but Sam pushes him away with all the strength he has and gets to his feet, stumbling and trembling and barely able to keep his balance.

A pair of arms support him. "Sammy, what's going on, dude?" Dean asks him, trying to sound calm, but Sam clutches on to the wall and gets himself into the hallway. His stomach lurches and his gorge rises, bringing the strength Sam doesn't possess to propel him towards the kitchen, where he grips the counter and dips his head into the sink to puke.

It lasts too long. He's sweating bullets and he feels like he's going to pass out right in the middle of throwing up. Tears drip out of his eyes, there's vomit in his hair and the retching is so violent, it makes his head pound and muscles cramp. It's pure agony.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Sam feels Dean and Cas pushing him down to sit on a chair and he does, but he has to puke again before he can even thank them. Dean holds a wet towel to his forehead and Cas gathers his hair back, both of them keeping their free hands on Sam's back, trying to help him as much as they can. Sam tries to make sense of it, tries to stop vomiting but he can't, and his head feels like it's floating off his body and God…

_"S…my?"_

He's on the floor. He opens sticky eyes and there are two Deans and everything is on fire. Someone's calling out to him again but he doesn't… he  _can't_.

Sirens blare in the distance and there's a  _beep beep beep_  and he's not sure anymore. He thinks someone might be dying—that he should tell Dean about it… maybe he can help…  _God_ , his head.

It isn't until he hears an oddly familiar sob, a wrecked voice, that he realises that  _he's_  the one who's dying.

**~o~**

Dean blinks at Cas's door for a couple of minutes, trying to get rid of his sleep-deprived stupor before he rings the doorbell. He hears a shuffling from inside and stands back, knowing Cas is on his way.

It's been three days since the whole clusterfuck with Sam getting suddenly and badly sick, a nightmarish episode that had Dean calling an ambulance and their mom panicking about Sam's condition. The paramedics had found something Dean hadn't noticed—Sam's gums were yellowing, a subtle sign of jaundice, and they had no idea why that was. Sam's been in the hospital ever since, getting yellower and worse and the doctor has a hunch, Mom has a hunch, but they wouldn't say what it was until they ran all the tests.

Until today.

Through all of this Cas had stayed by Sam and Dean's side stubbornly until Dean kicked him out last night and asked him to get some sleep. The diagnosis was made final this morning and Dean's come back to check on Cas and… honestly, he just wants to kiss Cas, maybe sit with him as he plays his violin and play with the kittens. He'll do anything for a distraction at this point. He doesn't want to face what he's just been told.

Cas opens the door and Dean wants to smile at him, maybe lean in for a kiss, but a glance at him is enough to crumble something inside of Dean, bringing the tears streaming, and he doesn't know, doesn't know where to go from here, doesn't know how to pull himself and his family out of this shitstorm.

"Dean," Cas whispers, gripping Dean's wrist to pull him in and God, this is so embarrassing. Dean brings up the heels of his palms to wipe at his eyes, sniffing, and he looks up at Cas.

"Sorry," he says.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Cas signs to him. "How is Sam?"

Dean takes a deep breath, pulls back his sleeve to reveal the white, square sterile tape on the crook of his elbow.

"You got a blood test?" Cas asks him.

Dean shakes his head. "No… I mean—yeah. Yeah. They, um… I got myself tested for Sam. His… he was given some kind of inhalational agent… halothione or whatever, and… it's, um, it's screwed his liver up and his f-friend… uh, Charlie, she had a milder version but Sammy's got something in his genes." He takes a breath, but it trembles. "Basically, he needs a new liver and I guess now we gotta see who can give it to him."

Dean can't get himself to go on. Cas's eyes widen and there is utter silence, the false cheer spread by early morning bird sounds audible between them, like they're some paradoxical harbingers of death and grief and everything else that Dean feels churning inside of him.

He looks away, looks away from Cas because he can't do this. He can't—he doesn't know how to. And Cas… Cas is probably gonna hate him for what he is about to say next. But he needs to get it out there and he needs to lay it down so Cas knows, and…

"Cas, I'm sorry," he says again.

Cas is about to sign in reply, about to tell him he shouldn't be sorry—or something of that sort, but Dean catches his hands and brings them down. "No, Cas," he says, "I'm… I'm sorry because I can't do it. I can't  _not_  fight for this and I can't stop them—I don't  _want_  to stop them from putting Roman in prison."

Dean's words are followed by silence again but this one is not like the last. This one crackles, buzzes with energy from Cas, and Dean knows Cas and he had thought Cas would say it's okay, that it was the right thing to do, but he doesn't expect what happens next.

He isn't prepared for Cas to step away from him, like he's poison, corrupt—like Cas can't even be near him anymore, like they never loved each other or held each other in the darkest of nights.

"Cas," Dean pleads, but Cas shakes his head, striding to his table, pulling out the violin case that's always been there, the one they don't talk about. He opens it and inside is a beautiful violin, all wood and strings and melody, and on the chin rest there is a carving.

_CN_

_GN_

Dean stares at it and he has no clue what he's looking at. However, before he can ask, before he can even speak, Cas snatches the violin out of its case, only to unearth what looks like bills upon bills that fly out aimlessly, scattering everywhere just like everything else in Dean's life, and they're not money either.

He doesn't even have time to stop Cas from walking out of his own home, violin in hand and tears streaming down his face, and he doesn't have to do anything else to make himself clearer. Because Dean knows now that it's over between them.

**~o~**

"Gabriel Novak."

The name has been etched into his brain for two days now. Two days since Cas walked away, two days since Dean found Gabriel's name in fading ink on one of the many bills on Cas's floor. It was for a local nursing home that aids long-term patient care, and Dean had driven there to find Gabriel Novak, a thin, drawn man hooked up to machines, alive only scientifically, and apparently this way for about three years now.

Gabriel Novak. Cas's brother. The family he never mentioned.

That's when he'd realised why Cas never got any money for the bioweapon fuck up. He's being compensated in another way. And now that Roman and his cronies are going to trial…

"Dean."

Sam's voice distracts Dean from his train of thought, pulling him back, and Sam gives him an exhausted glance from his hospital bed.

"Dean," he says again, "let it go."

Dean takes a look at his sick, yellowing brother with his bad blood counts and terminal illness, still here to forgive the guy who wants his assaulters to go scot free.

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you really going to say that me?"

"Yeah," says Sam. "Let it go, man. It's done."

"As if that's my choice… letting go," Dean scoffs. "He's the one who let go, remember?"

"And you're gonna be mad at him forever now?"

Dean shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. "Are you listening to yourself, Sam? Are you understanding what Cas wanted?"

Sam scratches at his nose and shifts in his bed, the starchy hospital sheets rustling under him. He is quiet for a whole minute, his eyes just focussed on Dean, and Dean's starting to get seriously weirded out now. He wants to look away, but he can almost hear Sam's thoughts and he hates this. He hates that his brother might be right, but he isn't going to give Sam the satisfaction of knowing that Dean already knows, and agrees with Sam's about to say.

"Dean—"

"Sammy."

"You'd do the same for me."

There it is. Sam giving it to him without a doubt, and Dean has to turn away. He walks to the window, peering through the blinds, brushing some of the morning dust off them. There is an ambulance rushing into the emergency block and Dean shudders, thinking of.  _Thinking of._

"I'm not saying it's the right thing to do," says Sam, and Dean wants to ask him to shut up but he can't, and Sam goes on. "Cas is desperate. And you know better than most people what it's like to lose your brother." He pauses. "Don't you?"

Dean doesn't even look back at Sam. He just focusses on the people going in and out of the hospital and wonders, of the hundred awful things that his life could be about… why did it have to be this? Why can't he have one good thing and be at peace?

Maybe he was never meant to be happy. Maybe this is all there is to his life.

That night, Dean asks Mary to stay the night with Sam at the hospital and he embraces his whiskey and his cigarettes back home, then the knife.

He cuts until he's almost passed out from blood loss. He cuts until he's almost screaming from the pain, physical, mental, emotional, and worse than anything he's ever felt.

**~o~**

Sam notices the cuts. He tries to say something, but Dean's out of there before Sam can lecture him about it. On the other side, Cas doesn't text or FaceTime, doesn't even open the door for Dean each time he drives to Cas's home.

Dean cuts again. Thinks that maybe if he accidentally dies like this, that it's probably for the best.

This is all before neither Dean nor Mary turn out to be a match for Sam. Nor do Eileen, Benny, Ellen, Jody, Bobby, or any of their friends. Sam's just… different, and Dean, for once, wishes his brother didn't have to be the weirdest of them all.

The date of the trial draws closer and nothing changes. Sam gets worse, except, Dean thinks he has the hots for Jess. He would have teased Sam about it, had he not been pissed to hell about everything ever.

"You promised you'll get help," Sam reminds him one day, looking worse than ever before, weak, barely walking,  _dying dying dying_. He's on the transplant list but there's a queue out there, a queue which moves way too slowly to be helpful to Sam.

"Sam," Dean says, too tired to talk, to argue, to do anything. "I'll get help, okay?"

"When?"

Dean concentrates on the linoleum floor. Traces the scuff marks, closes his fists. "I…" He takes a deep breath. "When you get a new liver."

"Dean—"

Dean takes a deep breath and heads to the door. "I'll do it if and when you promise me that you won't die," he says, and it's a miracle that he says it without his voice breaking, because there is no part of him right now that isn't shattered.

That evening, Dean hangs out at Ellen's bar with Jo and her girlfriend Charlie, the chick Sam had befriended when they were held with Roman. Jo's showing off her bald head, unabashed, and Charlie is smitten by every inch of her just like…

Dean stops his thoughts right there.

He wonders what they'll do if Jo doesn't survive her cancer, but then they both look at him the moment he thinks that. Dean realises a moment too late that his face is wet.

"I, uh…" He looks away, and that's when he feels a weak punch on his shoulder.

"Winchester," says Jo, when he turns to look, "don't you make this about yourself. We're not living some tragedy here."

He raises his hands in surrender, tries to smile. "Not feeling sorry for myself. Are we all right now?"

"We are," says Jo. "Besides, I'm not dying."

Dean chuckles, tracing a finger over the worn wooden table top. "I never questioned that."

"No, for real—" Jo's eyes widen when she realises Dean doesn't know what she's talking about. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

The smile she gives him is the brightest, shining through her translucent skin, dazzling and beautiful, and Dean just knows before she even says it.

Jo giggles like a little girl. "The chemo is working, man," she says. "It's getting better and your mom is happy with where I'm heading to. It stays this way for just a couple months and we'll be sure that I'm not dy—oof!" Dean barely gives her the opportunity to finish what she was saying, for he has his arms around her, and if he weren't so scared that he would crush her, he would never let go.

Maybe everything  _isn't_  a clusterfuck. Maybe there is just one thing in his life that's actually awesome right now.

However, this is all before the day of the trial. This is all before Dean's sitting in court, watching Jess prepare her papers, waiting for his mom. He is hoping they will win, although, chances that they will lose are really slim, but Roman's rich and he has a good lawyer so they can't say for sure even with airtight evidence and great witnesses from their side.

A few minutes before the court is in session, Mary enters the room and comes over to sit beside Dean. She looks red and huffy, like she'd rushed, and Dean's about to ask her if she's all right, when she grabs his hand and turns to him with tears glimmering in her eyes.

"Mom?" he asks, concerned. "What's the matter?"

She gives him a trembling smile. "I just came back from the hospital and—" Dean's heart skips a beat, but his mother takes both his hands and squeezes them. "Sam has a match."

Dean's jaw drops, the sounds of court chatter around him muffling considerably and he doesn't care—doesn't care anymore. About anything. Mary, however, turns, and Dean notices a familiar face at the door.

Cas takes Dean's glance at him as the sign to come in and he does. He settles in the row behind Dean and extracts something from his pocket: a pass to his show, from what Dean can see. He offers it to Dean and Dean takes it without comment, still staring at Cas, who finally smiles.

"I got tested for your brother," he signs, "and I'm a match. I'm willing to get the surgery as soon as possible."

 _Oh, Cas,_  Dean wants to say,  _I love you, you fucking moron, and you didn't have to give Sammy your liver for me to remember that._  He ends up saying something else, though, although it comes from his heart just as earnestly as his thoughts. "Thank you," Dean says, signing at the same time. "Thank you."

Cas nods, and Dean has to pretend for the session that he doesn't want to look back again and again, that he doesn't want to kiss the living daylights out of Cas. He waits, though, he waits the next few days and after a gruelling, exhausting trial when they win, Dean pulls Cas into a hug and cherishes him all over again, his warmth, his touch, and everything, everything that has ever been Cas. They don't meet or talk again for a long time after.

**~o~**

**_Three months later_ **

_Ooh lala la_

_Oooh lala la_

_Ooh la lala la la la lala_

"That's Sona, and she's going to be singing now," Dean says to Sam on the phone, only to hear a sigh from the other side. "Do you hear that?"

 _"Dude, I know that's her,_ " Sam replies, and Dean can barely hear him through the cheering, but he presses the phone closer to his ear, straining to listen. Sam just a couple months into his transplant but he's not allowed in public places yet because his immune system is kinda fried. He did get a new girlfriend out of the whole deal though, the bastard.

 _"Stop disturbing my fun and let me listen. I don't need your commentary from there,"_ Sam continues.

Dean laughs. "All right, Sasquatch, you cosy up with Jess and have fun." He can practically hear Sam bitchfacing as his brother ends the call. He's just pocketed his phone when a pair of hands pulls at him. It's Jo.

"Dean," she says, "come on, dance!"

"Your girlfriend—"

 _"Dance!"_  she says getting him to stand up with her and the others. They sway to the interlude. Sona raises the mic to her lips and Jo screams, Charlie following suit, and Benny whoops. Dean looks at them and claps.

"All right!"

_Thanthaane Thanthaane Kaatrum Mazhaiyum Thanthaane  
Elloarum Vaazhathaane_

Jo grabs his hands and they dance, unruly and free, as Sona continues.

 _Thanthaane Thanthaane Paadal Onru Thanthaane_ _  
Elloarum Paadathaane_

 _Sirupillaipoal Manamirunthaal Thuyarillaiyae_ _  
Paravaiyaippoal Udalirunthaal Bayamillaiyae_

Jo moves, Dean with her, and he's never felt this happy, this good.

_Thanthaane Thanthaane Kaiyil Boomi Thanthaane  
Valamoadu Vaazhathaane_

He grabs Jo's fingers and twirls her around, making her giggle as Sona quickens pace, the whole crowd bursting into cheers.

 _Mazhaithuli Mannil Vanthu Sintha Chintha_  
Ezhugirathae Oru Vaasam  
Athu Enai Vaanavillil Kondu Saerthu Vidugirathae  
Sila Naeram

There is whooping, and before he knows it, Dean is warm, sweaty, hugging Jo, and they're chorusing with Sona, the only words they can sing out of everything.

_"Ooh lala la_

_Oooh lala la_

_Ooh la lala la la la lala!"_

Jo is giggling again, Dean is laughing, too, the lights blue and green on her face as the song interludes again and Dean pulls her closer to plant a kiss on her head.

"I'm so glad you're okay, kiddo," he mutters into her ear, and she looks at him with a twinkle in her eyes. She's been cancer free for a whole month now, just like she said she'd be.

"I'm more than just okay, Winchester." She gestures to Charlie. "Moving in with her this week."

"Really?"

"Really! I love her, man."

Dean bows his head. "Well, then, she's one lucky girl."

Jo glances at the stage, at the spot they both know Dean's been staring at since he got here. Cas is there with his violin and he looks hot, shirt slightly unbuttoned and hair mussed up, drenched in confetti and glitter, the light forming somewhat of a halo around him. Like an angel.

The angel who saved Dean first, only to save Sam after. Dean knows Cas is probably all of the reasons he was alive to see Sam come back, and every day he thinks of it, he loves Cas even more, and he wasn't even sure that was possible.

So when Jo puts a hand on his arm and leans towards him, Dean knows the answer to the question she's about to ask already.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "I'm lucky, too. I love him."

"So tell him."

"I did, so many times."

Jo squeezes his arm and the lights change, and Dean looks again at Cas, halo, sharp jaw, eyes, stubble, sweetness, and hotness altogether. "I proposed," he says. "But it wasn't meant to be, I guess."

"No, that's not it," she says, "it was and it always is meant to be."

"Then—?"

"You told him you love him?"

"Yeah, I just told you…"

"Tell him again. You love him, Winchester, so isn't he worth saying it once more?"

Dean takes in her words, takes in the music, and looks around at all the jumping, happy people, none of whom have what he has. Or even had. Cas is better than everything else. And fuck yes, Dean wants him back, and damn him if he doesn't try at least once more.

So much fuss for a Grindr hook-up gone right. Dean guesses he'll have to fabricate this story for his grandkids after all.

Dean sneaks backstage after the performance, a mighty, hearty, beautiful mix of music unlike anything he's ever heard in his life. His way to the dressing rooms is easy but he doesn't have to go too far, for he finds Cas signing to Sona at the corridor, both of them sitting against the wall, but before Dean can approach them, Cas sees him and the animated conversation stops.

Sona turns to look up, and she smiles, awkward and knowing, as she gets up. "I guess it's time for me to leave, then."

Dean can barely take his eyes off Cas, but he manages to go forward and shake Sona's hand. "Hey, you did great tonight."

"Thanks." She clutches his hand. "Thanks for coming and watching us."

"Are you kidding me, you guys are awesome!"

"Still." She says that, just that, and Dean wonders how many people know what went on between him and Cas. He watches her disappear down the corridor into the dressing rooms and takes his time to get to Cas's side, to sit on the floor beside him.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean," Cas signs back.

"I just…" Dean's voice catches in his throat. They haven't spoken since the trial. A couple weeks later Cas gave Sam a part of his liver and Sam's been tolerating it well so far. Dean had gone to Cas's room after the surgery and had thanked him. Only… Cas doesn't know that because he was unconscious at the time. Dean barely met him or spoke to him after that, except for sending Cas a mixtape of his favourite Zeppelin tracks.

"Dean," Cas whispers, and Dean looks at him.

"Cas, I'm sorry, man."

"It was my brother's time to go," Cas signs in reply. "I'm sorry I took my grief and anger out on you."

"And I'm sorry," Dean signs back, "to put you in that position. After Sammy… I should have known better."

Cas nods, eyes shining with tears, and Dean cups his face, leaning forward to place his forehead against Cas's. "I love you," he says, "and I understand if you never want to be with me, but—"

Cas pulls away like he was jolted by electricity, sleeves going up to wipe at his eyes and dig into his pocket. When he produces a ring, Dean's jaw drops. How long had Cas carried that around, waiting to propose? How long ago had Cas  _wanted_  to propose?

"Dean," Cas begins, his raspy voice making another appearance, but Dean stops him by placing his lips on Cas's. He hears Cas gasp, their arms tangling around each other, hungry to be in each other's arms again after so long, so long, but then Dean has to break away this time, for he wants to give his answer in the way that Cas would like.

"Yes," he signs, "I will marry you."

Cas is still smiling. "You are better at signing now."

"I know." Dean chuckles. "So am I getting that ring or what?"

Cas nods, takes Dean's hand, and slides the ring onto Dean's finger. It's a plain platinum band with an engraving, that when Dean looks closely, says something he's not sure he knows the meaning of.

_BHAIRAVI_

"Bhairavi," he whispers, staring at the letters. "What's Bhairavi?"

Cas doesn't even take a beat to answer it. "Bhairavi is  _you_."

 


	8. Shadjam (Redux): Epilogue

**_One Year Later_ **

Jo and Charlie get married in a private ceremony in a hot air balloon. It's actually a surprise for them all, since this was supposed to be a picnic at Lake Tahoe, but Dean will never forget the look on Jo's and Charlie's faces when they told them what they are actually here for.

He's had Cas's hand in his all this while, the sunlight fading to fall, sunglasses glistening with reflections and happiness. Sam, who's completed a little more than a year since his transplant, has been doing remarkably well, and now can go out and around and is in charge of Ginger and Charcoal. He's doing his job well, letting them play around on his enormous lap. Dean hasn't told him yet that he and Cas used his hair tie as a cock ring last night, and that's why it's missing.

"Guys!" Charlie says. "Get into the balloon and don't make us yell."

Dean approaches his brother, who's collecting the cats in his arms. "Hey, Sammy," he says, "race you to the balloon? Last one there is a stinky sock."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Sure. Go!" He takes off, still really fast—new liver or not, and it's so unexpected, it takes a moment for Dean to start running. And he does, cursing all the way, until he gets to the balloon, where Jo and Charlie are waiting with Ellen, Mary, Cas, Sam, and the kittens.

"You finally getting in, Stinky?" Jo asks him, and Dean flips Sam the bird, only for their mother to protest.

"Boys!"

"Well, to be fair, Mom," Sam replies, "he started it."

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother, plotting revenge already, when Jo pats at his arm and hands him two flower crowns. "One for Cas," she says.

"Why?"

"Because I'm getting married and I say so. Put it on, Winchester."

Dean obeys her because he has to, and Sam's wearing one, too, as is Cas, and so are the cats. They look funny as fuck (okay but Cas kinda looks like a god and Dean might be biased there). Sam pulls his phone out to commemorate this moment and beckons them to him. "Selfie?"

They agree, everyone converging and arranging themselves to look into the tiny camera on Sam's phone, and as Sam takes the picture, Dean looks at it and thinks, _this is it, and this is perfect._

He's been in therapy a year, him and Sam both, and things are better for them. They may never recover but they know to  _deal_. Dean also loves Cas more than ever and feels it all reciprocated, and he doesn't know what he's done to be so lucky. And Jo is all right, Sammy is all right, everyone is doing so fucking well, and tonight Dean's going to let Cas fuck him at the beach and honestly, it really couldn’t get any better than this.

He just knows that everyone in that photo, everyone smiling right now, for the shit they've suffered,  _boy_ , do they finally deserve this. Happiness and joy. Friends. Family. The kittens. 

Sammy.

Cas.

Dean's whole heart and soul in one little air balloon, all of them living happily fucking ever after.

* * *

 

**Love is reckless; not reason.  
Reason seeks a profit.  
Love comes on strong,  
consuming herself, unabashed.  
  
Yet, in the midst of suffering,  
Love proceeds like a millstone,  
hard surfaced and straightforward.**

**-Rumi**

 

**_Fin_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! If you got here and enjoyed the journey please take a moment to leave me a kudos or a comment, it will make me smile and jump. Also PLEASE leave a comment for the lovely artist who worked with me on this.
> 
> Also:  
> 1\. [Gingie](http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n89/GWP_01/OOWU2762.jpg) and [Charkie](http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n89/GWP_01/QGZG6003.jpg) are very real. They were 2-3 weeks old, abandoned Bengal mixes when I rescued them and they turned me into a cat person. Right now I'm involved in the care of their brother, Tigger, who's equally awesome, and is a special needs kitty who is full of love and kisses for me everyday and all the time.
> 
> 2\. Bioweapon testing on poor/oppressed people is a real thing that actually happens and you can read about it in places as common as Wikipedia. I’d read about a man called Albert Stevens when I got inspired for the core plot of this fic. Do look him up!
> 
> 3\. Lymphostat is not real but ABVD is. I hope the medical jargon makes sense.
> 
> 4\. I'm trained in Carnatic Music. I studied it 12 years and yes, this fic was self-indulgent.
> 
> 5\. I tried to portray safe sex and bondage practices but if I'm missing anything please correct me. 
> 
> Thank you, once again, my lovelies! You can find me on Tumblr [here.](http://winchesterpooja.tumblr.com/)


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